Treehouse
by seaecho
Summary: She can hardly believe her lifelong dream of having a treehouse comes true, and Shannon can finally live the solitary life she thinks she wants. That is, until she spies some trespassers, and the drama begins. Warnings: Slash, M/M and het sexual situations, some language.
1. Chapter 1

_The beach! _

_Malibu!_

Shannon knew it in an instant. _This was going to change her life._

It was true! It really was true! Shannon's face lit up, her shrill squeal of joy almost breaking her father's eardrums. She jumped up and down with unbridled excitement. Her own place! _Her very own place! _The idea made her feel impossibly giddy.

And Phil Masters, Shannon's dad, couldn't be more pleased. A quiet, conservative, pleasant looking man in his mid-forties with glasses, crew cut and spreading middle, he grinned at his exuberant daughter. _She's so pretty, _he thought. _So lovely._ _So much like her mother._ He was overjoyed with her reaction. He'd been worried about her, and he'd also been a little skeptical about this- hadn't known what she would think of what he'd done. But now he knew his instincts had steered him right.

How he wished she could be like this all of the time. She could be vivacious and light-hearted, like right now, which was really her natural temperament, but she could also show an attitude that was almost gloomy. There was good reason for it though. Life had been very hard on her. Twenty-one was much too young for a girl to have to bear all that she had. She'd lost her mother three years ago to cancer. Shannon had had to grow up fast. Her father had done all he could think of to help her, but there was no way he could bring back his wife, Shannon's mother. That was the most brutal, heart wrenching part of it. Shannon and her mother had been very close.

She hadn't been herself since the loss of her mother. Not truly. She didn't seem to enjoy things to the same degree anymore. As far as he knew, she had hardly dated at all since her mother's death, and once upon a time she had been boy crazy.

Shannon had been living in a dreary little apartment that she could barely afford. She worked hard, yet could hardly make the rental payment with her meager pay, working as a supermarket checker. She'd been miserable, although tried not to let on to her father. At all costs, she didn't want him worrying. Phil had offered her money often, but she was stubborn, and usually wouldn't accept it. He took her to lunch or dinner sometimes, but those were such little things. He'd wracked his brains for something he could do for her, until he finally realized how simple it had been all along—he'd buy her a home. He knew she loved the country, or at the very least, open spaces. She also loved the ocean. So he'd been out scouting real estate near the ocean. He figured he'd buy her a mobile home to put on some land. Only weeks later, he'd found an ideal one acre parcel of land not far from the Malibu beach shoreline for a ridiculously low price, so he'd acted out of character and snatched it up before he changed his mind, or someone else grabbed it. Normally overly prudent, for once in his life, he'd thrown caution to the wind and acted on impulse. He was sticking his neck out in not telling Shannon about it. But he wanted it to be a surprise. He had no idea what she'd say when he told her, but heck, he could always turn around and sell it, so no one would lose out.

He really couldn't go wrong, his analytical mind told him; she'd have her space, and privacy too, as she seemed to prize that. Since her mother had died, she'd not shown much interest in anyone or anything. Phil realized it was probably because the loss had caused her to be deeply afraid of another loss. The real world just hurt too much, and she was withdrawing. He knew all about it—he still missed his wife terribly. She and his daughter had been the brightest spots in his life. Now that his wife was gone, he wanted to ease his daughter's pain wherever he could, not to mention make things easier on her financially. This might be the answer. It wouldn't bring her mother back, but she'd at least have a place to call her own. With any luck, it might at least lift her spirits.

Shannon hadn't even seen the land yet. "Honey, don't get too excited. There's really not much to see. Just land. There's no fence put up yet, and really nothing but some trees and weeds there right now."

"I don't care! If you picked it out, I know I'll love it!" Shannon wrapped her arms around her dad and jumped up and down some more. He laughed. He was the one person in the world she adored, and he was proud of that.

If only her mother could see her… she seemed to get prettier all the time. The medium blond hair with red highlights. Not quite red enough to be classified as strawberry blond, but bordering on it. It came almost to the middle of her back, the fine strands always causing her frustration when it was windy. Uncommonly shiny though, and soft. Her eyes were somewhere between blue and green, bright and inquisitive, and her figure was slim yet shapely enough to leave no doubt she was a female. She was unmistakably feminine, yet almost fearless, an engaging combination. She could be shy at times, but could also be fierce when something roused her ire.

They drove out that very day to see the property; it was Saturday and they both had the day off. Phil knew she would have gone by herself whether he went or not. But he _wanted_ to go with her—wanted to see her reaction. That was why he had waited until the weekend to tell her.

Shannon was awestruck the moment she laid eyes on it. It was true there were a lot of weeds, but she'd get that taken care of on the weekends in no time. In fact, she actually looked forward to it. She'd forgotten just how big an acre was! And it was hers! There were several nice trees on the property. The tree that was by far the most impressive though, was the majestic California live oak that her dad pointed out—although no one _needed_ to call your attention to it. It was nearly fifty feet tall and at least thirty feet wide, and everything about it was magnificent. You couldn't help but be drawn to it. It stood right in the center of the property like a show piece. It was unique, with many branches that twisted elegantly every which way. Southern California had many wonderful coastal oak trees, but this one was exceptional.

"That tree is a real winner. Robust, and I bet you it's a hundred years old if it's a day," remarked her father. Shannon stared up at it in wonder.

"Evergreen too—you'll have that great foliage all year. And they hardly have to be watered. I was thinking maybe right there…" her dad pointed to a spot behind the oak. "That would be a good place to put a trailer for you—you know, a mobile home. Of course, we can put it anywhere you want to, but I thought that tree would give you the most privacy."

"Oh Daddy, I love you!" she started bouncing up and down again, using his shoulders to push off of, as he chuckled. "But…" she stopped suddenly, a sober look crossing over her expression. "I want to pay you rent, and I am _going_ to, so there's to be no argument about it!"

"Okay, okay honey. I knew how you'd feel, so you can pay me a small amount of rent. But remember, I got this property dirt cheap, it's a good investment for me, and the payments won't be much at all. We'll talk about the amount later. Right now, we need to start looking at mobile homes. I want to get you moved in here as soon as possible, and out of that depressing apartment."

This was truly a dream come true for Shannon. Her dad only lived half an hour away from the property, in south Los Angeles, and she'd have her own home, unlike her apartment, where thin walls were all that separated her from other people, and you could hear just about everything they did and said. She couldn't even walk outside without being forced to talk to people who lived in the complex-practically on top of her. She could hardly be solitary the way she longed to be.

She currently lived more inland, an hour from here, but she came to the ocean whenever she got a chance. She loved the ocean with a passion. It didn't escape her quick mind that her father had picked a place with a full acre, and one that was less than half a mile from the ocean. Yes, her Daddy had put lots of thought into this, and she thanked God, as she did daily, that she was so loved by her father. She wanted to cling to him constantly, so grateful was she to have him. She even hated having him out of her sight. She was so terribly afraid of losing him…

When her dad asked her what she was looking for in a home, she really didn't have a ready answer. She hadn't actually ever given it much thought. At this point, she had thought she'd be in an apartment for a very long time to come. In the following weeks, as they mobile home shopped, everything was either in need of too many repairs, or if the homes were new, they lacked imagination, reminding Phil of something made on an assembly line—or even worse, cheaply made. Shannon told Phil she'd be more than happy with anything, but he knew his daughter well enough to deduce that none of the trailers they'd looked at had struck a spark in her. He hadn't seen that enthusiasm in her that she'd demonstrated when he'd showed her the property. It was true that she'd live in just about anything to escape the way she lived now. And they both wanted to get her into her new place as soon as possible. So she wouldn't mind settling on something less than ideal. Apartment life just did not suit her or enhance the inherently free person she really was on the inside. Even though she'd always lived in the city with her parents, she was a born country girl at heart with a healthy dash of a true affinity for the ocean. And this land would give her a taste of both. It had the capability, he believed, to help his daughter come to terms with her grief, to recover what she could of the happiness that had seeped out of her life, to allow her to shine the way she used to. He knew they'd find the right place if they'd only be patient.

However, his frustration was reaching new levels every night when he looked at the classified ads for mobile homes, every weekend when he viewed them with realtors. None of them were right. He usually went alone, as Shannon was almost always busy pulling weeds on her new acre of land, and making tremendous progress with it. Nevertheless, he had a fair idea of what Shannon was looking for. Something unique, something that would bring out her own individual personality. Something winsome. Not the cookie cutters that he kept finding. Shannon was confident her father would someday soon tell her he'd found something she might want to look at. When that didn't happen, she grew edgy, unsettled, anxious. She wanted, for the millionth time, to tell him that what she lived in didn't make that much difference to her. Something basic would do fine. Having the property and the beach so close was more than enough. But she knew her Daddy—he would want her in something nice that she would really enjoy, and he was far too perceptive to be fooled. When she was really excited about something, it just bubbled over without conscious control, and no way would she be able to hide her delight from him.

One evening, when it was almost dusk, Shannon and her dad had pulled up the last of the weeds together. It had been back breaking work, but the land looked so different—so clean and neat. They sat on lawn chairs, drinking iced tea and their eyes, as usually happened, strayed to the spectacular oak tree. It was so imposing that it was nearly impossible _not _to look at it. It was hard to believe four weeks had elapsed since Phil had shown her where her new home would be.

That evening, sitting there together, her dad said something that changed everything in an instant. The way the land had changed everything, only magnified by many times.

"Remember when you were a little girl and you always wanted a treehouse, but I was working so much that I never did get the time to build you one?" he asked.

"Yeah, I sure do. How could I forget? You were working hard to support me and mom, and she explained it to me, so I understood… I really did. You were also a workaholic."

"Still am. But now that I'm a little older, I don't push myself quite as hard. If I could relive those days though, when you were little, I would spend more time with you, and… also build that treehouse you always wanted. It's funny, but you know, that tree right there would be perfect for a treehouse. Wish we'd had one like it in our backyard back then. It's healthy, strong and stable, and the way the branches are placed, it has just the right structure for a treehouse."

He was talking idly, but it brought an inner revelation that commanded Shannon's attention within seconds. The irrepressible excitement was back abruptly.

"Daddy…" she picked her words carefully. She tried to govern her sudden eagerness. "We haven't been able to find a trailer that seems to fit me, but, is there a chance… just a tiny, itty bitty chance… that we could make a treehouse in that tree?" She had a catch in her chest, a breathlessness that carried a promise of a hint of a possibility so remote that she was afraid to say anything more.

"Shannon, honey. We need to concentrate on a place for you to live before we could even consider a treehouse," her dad smiled fondly at her. She was still a dreamer, always had been, and probably always would be. Still a little girl at heart.

"No, Daddy. That's not what I meant…" she was trying to harness her enthusiasm, but feeling more breathless with each passing second. She was all but gasping.

"What I was trying to say was, is there any possibility of me_ living_ in a treehouse?"

Phil just stared at her. He must have heard her wrong. It took him a moment to compose himself. "What?" he murmured, his voice sounding uncharacteristically robotic, because he was truly in a mild state of shock.

"My dream, Daddy! My dream of the treehouse I never got. I can't believe you just now put the idea in my head, but do you think there might be some way? You said that tree is perfect!" she waited with bated breath for him to reject the idea vehemently, or even worse, laugh at her idea. Not that he would do that, but she could hardly contain the anticipation of his response.

He already knew the tree had no evidence of diseases or parasites. He also knew these oaks usually live two or three hundred years, so the tree was neither too old nor too young. It had a crotch about ten or twelve feet up—ideal for a superior platform, which is where the foundation is formed. It couldn't have been more perfect for the purpose than if he'd picked the tree out himself, he marveled inwardly.

Phil studied the tree some more, walked over to it and ran his hands along the bark, looked at the branches, as if he hadn't done that dozens of times already, in fact every time they came here. What he didn't tell her was that the same idea had crossed his mind, but he'd dismissed it as silly.He had just assumed that childhood fantasy of her wanting a treehouse was long gone. Well_, if she'd had the same idea… _Right now it seemed to Shannon that he appeared to be taking furious notes in his head. He had a preoccupied look in his grey flecked eyes.

Shannon stayed in her chair, even though she wanted to run to him and demand he say something, _anything. _Treehouses had always held a special magic for her, even though she'd only been in one once before in her life. Her neighbor's treehouse. She'd been in love with them ever since she'd first seen it, before even climbing the ladder. It had made her feel free in a wonderful way, and she hadn't forgotten it. The idea of actually being able to_ live_ in one was something she could hardly conceive of, so thrilling was the idea. But she was also so terribly afraid to hope…

When Phil came back to his chair, he still sported a strange, far-off look. He schooled his expression, however, to appear sober and solemn. He spoke slowly and deliberately.

"So, you want a treehouse as your _only _dwelling?" he asked, to be sure he'd understood her correctly.

She nodded eagerly, feeling as if she were about ready to burst from the intoxication of this outlandish, yet tantalizing, fantasy-world idea.

"Honey, I've never even heard of that being done! I mean… there are so many things to consider. You don't realize….It would have to be big enough to have a living room, a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. Not to mention the most complicated parts—Electric, gas, water, bathroom facilities." The last two words had brought a measure of embarrassment, and he averted his eyes momentarily.

"But on the other hand," he continued, before she started to protest, as he knew she would. "I have an electrician friend. You know him…Hank... he could help me with that part of it. And I know people who could help with the water part, but I'd have to find out about the gas, although we might be able to use electric only. As for the bathroom part, well… that would be a bit more involved. I'd have to install a septic tank. Then there's the refrigerator, stove, furniture. It would be your _house_, so it would have to include everything any house built on the ground does."

"But is it possible?" she couldn't help but ask that particular question again. "Daddy, you're an architectural engineer! If anyone could do it, you could!"

She did have a point there. He'd been at his profession for twenty- five years, and was respected in his field. With his knowledge along with Hank and various other friends, he wondered to himself, with their combined talents, if they just might be able to pull it off.

"Shannon, I'm not sure, not sure at all. I'll ask around though, and get ideas from people. I do have friends who would be happy to help me build it, and when all is said and done, it would cost a lot less than any trailer I could buy. But I don't, for one minute, want you to even consider it a strong possibility at this point."

That was all she could ask of him, all she expected right now—that he just consider it. She knew her father well; he loved projects, but they were usually small ones, like building shelves, cabinets, and similar things. So she had no doubt, that he would enjoy this and it would give him great satisfaction. Otherwise she wouldn't dream of asking him. And with friends to help him…now she really had high hopes...Shannon knew she wasn't going to sleep much tonight…. 


	2. Chapter 2

"We're gonna do it." _There was resolution in that voice._

Shannon's father smiled a touch smugly when she offered him a perplexed look. They were sitting in her apartment. He'd stopped by to tell her the news in person-none of this telephone stuff. Not with this kind of news. No, he wanted to see the look on her face.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Your treehouse. I talked to some people, and I got more cooperation than I expected. I've got five guys who are itching to help me make this project happen." It was Thursday, five days since they'd had the discussion.

Shannon was confounded for a moment. She had assumed, when she hadn't heard from him, that her dream treehouse was not going to become a reality. She'd been trying to accept that it wouldn't be the end of the world. But no... she realized now that he'd waited until he could be certain of delivering good news. The _best _news.

"Really? _Really_? Oh my God!" She was all but tripping over her own tongue, so Phil took over.

"Yes, really," his smile showed satisfaction. "We're going to the lumberyard this weekend to get some of the materials. I need to find out from you exactly how you want your treehouse set up. The location of the living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and anything special you want included. A blueprint of sorts. I want to get it right the first time so we don't have to redo anything. So try to be as precise as you can.

I'll have a generator for electricity, of course, and I've decided it would be best to run all electric... so we won't have to worry about running gas up there. The water shouldn't be too difficult. I'll explain all that later. I assume you'll want a deck, considering you are likely to have an ocean view, being up about ten or twelve feet off the ground."

This was nearly too much for Shannon to take in all at once. "A deck! Oh yes! That would be wonderful!" She hadn't even thought about an ocean view! What a fantastic bonus! She wondered if this were a dream, or if it really was truly coming about. Right now it almost felt like a fairy tale.

"I figured we can get it done in a few weeks, depending on how you want things set up."

"Daddy! A few weeks? Wow, I didn't know you could get it built that fast! I'll draw a map-how is that?" Shannon began talking as if she were a toy that was wound up too tight. "I was thinking a loft bed would be perfect, because it wouldn't take up more space; and I love the idea of one. It could be in a corner of the living room you know, with steps of course, and a cabinet or something where I can put night clothes, that kind of thing in, and the kitchen could be straight back from the living room, facing the ocean. Then the bathroom could be wherever it's easiest for you to place it. Do you think there'd be enough room for a living room/dining room combo?"

She'd been thinking a lot about this—that fact didn't get past him. She knew just how she wanted it set up. She hadn't been kidding… she _really _wanted this. As she talked, she drew him a rough map.

"Looks good," he nodded with approval. "The loft bed is brilliant—like you said, it eliminates the need for another room, and your living room could be that much bigger. You'd want both a front and rear entrance, just like with any house. So the kitchen would face the ocean? You sure about that?"

Shannon nodded eagerly, trying to contain her overflowing fervor.

"A wrap around deck? Or at least halfway around?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement at the idea of getting down to the actual building.

"Oh, that would be heavenly!"

"I figured you'd want to see both the ocean and also the rear of the property from the deck. You know, a bird's eye kind of view, so I think wrap around will be best. Lots of windows too?"

He was reading her mind! He hadn't forgotten how she loved her houseplants.

"Yes! Are you serious, Daddy? Only a few weeks?" She was incredulous. _This _she hadn't expected. She'd thought she'd be lucky if they finished it three months from now.

"Yes, the guys who will be helping me have a lot of knowledge between them. With five guys to help, it'll take half the time than if I only had two or three."

"So it's for sure? You're really going to do it?"

"Shannon, you know I wouldn't tell you unless I had no doubts at all. I wouldn't disappoint you like that," Phil chuckled with suppressed delight. He loved seeing her so animated—the way she _used _to be.

She knew what her father said was true. He wouldn't be discussing this with her if he weren't positive it would come about. He was as honest as the day was long. She was convinced there was never a more loyal, caring father than her own. He might appear a bit reserved, but Shannon knew his true nature. He was very sensitive and loving, having a soft spot for his daughter, kids, and animals too. For the thousandth time, she felt blessed to have him.

"Later on, I'll need you to pick out the tile you want in the kitchen and bathroom, and of course what color you want the house painted. Do you want the outside painted too?"

Shannon thought on it for a moment. "No… no, I think I'd rather leave the outside natural."

"Alright then, we'll use treated pressed wood. Carpeting or wood floor?"

"I've never had a wood floor. It sounds intriguing, but I think I'd better stick with carpet," decided Shannon.

The weekend was buzzing. There was a never-ending parade of lumber, pipes, ladders, shovels, measuring devices, and a whole lot of strange looking tools she couldn't identify. She knew what the hammers, nails and screws were, but not much else. Two pick-up trucks were loaded to capacity with wood and other building materials, and even though Shannon wanted to help, her father insisted she stay back and just watch from a lawn chair, as she would just get in the way; there were plenty of men to get everything done, he explained. It could even be dangerous for her if something were to fall. All she had to do was make trips to the store every few hours to refill the coolers with soft drinks and iced tea in bottles for the men, and go to get them lunch in the early afternoon.

'Does about ten or so feet up sound good to you?" asked Phil of his daughter.

"Yes, well…. I'd like it higher, but I know that wouldn't be practical."

"No, the crotch in the tree we'll be using is about ten or twelve feet up, take or give a few inches. The higher up you go in a tree, the less stable it is, for more reasons than I can name, so trust me on that. And remember, this treehouse will be your _home,_ your _only _home, so it has to be a good size too. That means it'll be heavy. You want it solid, and the crotch will be absolutely ideal. I doubt you'll ever even see another treehouse as large as this one will be. As few screws as possible will be put into the tree. Screws are better than nails. They can always be adjusted, because, remember… treehouses will have some movement in wind, and branches continue to grow throughout the tree's life."

She hadn't thought of half of the things he was telling her, and her head was swimming with information that she knew she'd forget most of. This experience was going to be quite an education!

"One of our biggest concerns will be to do as little damage to the tree as possible." Phil Masters was going to make sure the tree's health and longevity would not be compromised. Shannon admired him for that.

"We're ready to start the platform!" called out one of Phil's friends. One of the trucks was sitting below the tree, a ladder in place, and all the guys were wearing safety harnesses. Shannon watched in silent awe as they raised the lumber that was to form the platform, piece by piece. When the first piece of lumber was lifted, she realized with a start that it was literally the first piece of her new home. Goose bumps raised on her arms, and she swallowed a sizeable lump in her throat, said a silent prayer that nothing would go wrong.

Out came her camera, something her father had suggested, and wisely, as this treehouse would still be there long after she had left this earth. She had pictures of the tree before any building had started, and now she would get pictures of every stage of the construction. She wondered what people in the future would think of it, or if permanent treehouses might be commonplace by then.

Shannon knew her dad had a rough idea of where she wanted each room from the crude drawing she'd made, and he said it would be equivalent to about an eight hundred square foot apartment when completed. That, however, wouldn't include the deck. The deck would be about six feet wide, and the railings three feet high. The railing would have a nice design that Shannon had admired in a magazine and had shown to her father. He had been eager to try his hand at it.

That first day, they got the platform and a twelve by twelve shed put up to hold the generator, hot water heater and water pump, and more room for extra storage she might need. The generator was a small diesel Genset. The unit's diesel fuel capacity would last ten days before having to be refilled. It was dark by the time they finished.

The men drank a last glass of iced tea and headed home, but not before one of the men, Tom, estimated they'd have the entire thing done in a month. Shannon was speechless. She'd have her house by spring! She could already see herself spending lazy evenings and weekends on her deck, viewing the ocean. Except for work, it would be almost like a permanent vacation!

Week by week, Shannon watched the men put up the deck, the railing, the frame, the electrical, then the siding and roof. Her home was taking shape right in front of her eyes, and so quickly that she feared if she blinked, she'd miss something, or her beloved treehouse might disappear, having been nothing but a fantasy.

"Did I tell you, Shannon, there's an Artesian well running under your land, and we'll use that for water?" her dad commented one day. He'd really done his homework, thought Shannon, shaking her head in wonder. "As long as we can get the people in that tract of houses over that way to go along with it," he pointed to the east. "I don't anticipate a problem there though. Then we can get a contractor out here to drill down, and hopefully hit the water without having to go too terribly deep. After that, Herman will bring his backhoe over and put in a septic tank. Finally, we'll need to get various inspectors out, and we should be all set. Oh, and you do know supports will have to be put up so the tree won't have to bear much weight."

Holy crap! She'd had no idea how complex and involved it seemed to be just to be able to live in a treehouse! She was amassing quite a bit of building knowledge throughout these proceedings. Her main concern though, was her father and his friends.

"Are you sure this won't be too much work and trouble for you and your friends? We can always still move a mobile home on the property. It would be so much easier for you guys."

"Oh, honey, no. Look at how much is completed already! We're more than halfway there!" He was right, when she looked up at it. It would be a shame to tear it down now. "And all the guys are almost as anxious as I am to do it. You know us men and projects… it's a challenge, and we thrive on it. Every one of us can't wait to see the finished product," he assured her.

It was true, the men worked with gusto. By the time the exterior of the structure was finished, Shannon finally saw the character of her house emerging, and she loved it. It had only been an idea in her head until now, and she was astonished that it was looking even better than she had thought it would. The progress these ambitious men had made was truly admirable. It was about the size of an average bachelor apartment in Malibu, or a small one bedroom. The living room would take most of the space. She'd trusted her father with the exact dimensions and details. She knew he had a good eye for that kind of thing. Decent sized living room/dining room combination, small kitchen, small bathroom, and a loft that would house a queen size mattress and box springs, six feet up, to the side, in a corner of the living room, with steps leading up to it, and attractive wooden safety railings. The detail on the railings was charming. She'd left that up to her father, and he'd done an impressive job.

Sometime around the middle of April, Shannon was allowed to climb the steps to the treehouse for the first time. She was trembling inside, her legs hardly strong enough to hold her, so great was her anticipation. It had turned out to be exactly eleven feet off the ground. She walked around the deck, thrilled when she found she actually _could _see the ocean! She had been afraid it might not be high enough. It was a thin strip, but she could definitely see it. She saw the delight on her father's face when he saw her looking at it. He'd wanted her to see if for herself, so he hadn't mentioned it before she'd climbed up the steps. Inside, there was no carpeting, tile or furniture yet, but it was more spacey than she had thought it would be—a very nice, cozy size. It reminded her of a rustic cottage. All in all, it was so much more than she had expected.

There were a few bells and whistles. The men had installed a few wooden planters on her deck, a couple that would only get morning sun, and a couple that would get sun most of the day. Thanks to the willow and honey locust trees also on the lot, there would always be sufficient dappled shade in the house to keep it from getting overly warm in summer, yet there would still be sunny spots for her houseplants, and Shannon's biggest delight, besides the deck, was that there were lots of windows, making the rooms very open, bright and cheerful. There was a huge sliding glass door on the back of the house that covered most of the rear wall of the living room. She could open it, and get the cool ocean breeze in the summer through it's screen door. The foliage on the branches from the other trees gave the view an extra special quality. They weren't overwhelming however, and her dad said he would keep the branches trimmed regularly so her view would never be obstructed. The kitchen sink was stainless steel, something she had requested. The window over the kitchen sink was large enough for her to see the ocean as she washed her dishes. The Formica kitchen counters were tan, the linoleum kitchen floor would be light blue with swirls of dark brown and tan. The bathroom, which was on the side of the living room, further to the left than the loft bed, had a shower, tub and sink. The tile floor design would be one that resembled cedar wood. She was so glad she'd picked it out, as she knew it would look exceptional—very appropriate for a cottage-like treehouse. Shannon gasped when she saw that one wall in the bathroom was almost completely glass from the tub to the ceiling so she could see the trees, birds and nature while she bathed. A surprise from her dad, and like all his surprises, she adored it.

Shannon tried to picture how the furniture she'd already picked out would look. The apartment she'd been renting was furnished, so Phil had taken her to a furniture store, insisting she get what she wanted. She had picked furniture she felt was suitable for a cottage. Very simple—just a sofa, love seat, coffee table and end table for the living room. There wasn't a lot of room for much else. She could have had an armchair too, but elected not to. She preferred less furniture and more open space. It was charming, and she could even picture adding a mild bit of hippie flavoring to the décor. Her furniture would be delivered as soon as the treehouse was finished. They had also already ordered her a refrigerator and Phil had an oven in his garage, that was in fine working order, as he'd recently upgraded. So Shannon had insisted she use it to save him money. The oven was only a few years old.

"Shannon, I've already saved even more than I thought I would by us building you this treehouse instead of buying even the cheapest trailer. I can well afford to get you a new oven." But Shannon was adamant that she take the oven, as it had many years of use left in it, and moreover, it was the perfect size for her kitchen.

The men, at Phil's direction, had also built her lots of cabinets and cupboards. Shannon thought they would serve her well. She only needed the basics in pots and pans, dishes, sheets, towels, etc. The fancy silverware and other things Shannon had of her mother's could remain at Phil's house, stored in his garage, but were hers whenever she wanted them. The men had also built a closet and cupboard in the loft where the bed was so she could store her wardrobe and linens there, where they were handy. There was enough floor space at the end of the bed to get dressed. They had even built a simple carport for her car.

The next couple of weeks consisted of getting people in the housing tract half a mile away to sign for the Artesian well. As expected, everyone was agreeable. When drilled, water appeared just as predicted, bringing a sigh of relief from everyone. Everything was going smoothly and timely. Pipe was installed to run down the tree and a septic tank was installed about fifteen feet away from the tree. That job had taken the better part of one weekend.

The men had made Shannon some rustic spiral steps up to the treehouse that added a bit of a fancy touch to her somewhat rugged domain. _Just the right degree of charming and rugged_ is how she thought of her home. Shannon was finally able to help with something when they did the painting. She had picked out a pale blue. She was happy to be able to do something with her hands besides sit in her lawn chair and read. It took surprisingly little time with so many people working. After the painting was done, the linoleum she'd chosen was installed in the kitchen, and the bathroom tile was laid. Her furniture was a mocha color, so, after much deliberation, the carpeting she had chosen was a pattern of various shades of light to dark brown. It went amazingly well with her kitchen floor and pale blue walls. Even better than she had envisioned. She had found a wonderful lamp with a light blue shade and an unusual carved wooden base to put on her end table. Her home was now nearly complete. A few braided rugs here and there completed the final touch.

On the final weekend, the men brought the furniture. A small dinette set, couch, loveseat, coffee table, end table, queen mattress and box springs. Shannon brought over her linens, kitchen supplies and clothes in her small car, packing it full both Saturday and Sunday when she made the trip. The things that remained, her father brought over in his van. To her delight, she found that she had a place for everything, thanks to the extra cabinets and cupboards that her father had thought to include. She had nice cabinets in her bathroom too, and a mirrored medicine cabinet. All the comforts of home—_her _home.

That last Sunday evening, Phil and his friends sat back and admired the ocean, from the deck of the treehouse. It was a nice reward after several weekends of hard work. Shannon had gone out on her own during the week, after work, to buy lots of colorful pillows, a couple of inexpensive mosaic art pieces for the wall, chestnut brown and light blue hippie love beads that she planned to hang from the ceiling just inside the bathroom door so she had to sweep them to the side to enter, and from the ceiling over her loft bed, hanging down just to the bottom of the box springs, so she could part them as she climbed into bed. She was also considering hanging more beads in the entrance to the kitchen. She liked the pleasant sound they made when brushed against or separated. She also placed wind chimes in the house and several on the deck, and a hummingbird feeder as well on the deck in the rear. Her house plants had now taken up residence, adding a very homey touch. Soon she would go to a garden center and get flowers for the planters. She was pleased with her custom job of decorating her house because she wanted it to be unique—an echo of her personality. That was very important to her. She'd never been so proud of anything in her life. _Her very own home._ A charming blend of rustic and endearing. The house was now starting to look very much like the essence of Shannon.


	3. Chapter 3

Her first night in her new home had arrived at last. She felt as if she'd been waiting light years, when it had, in fact, only been a month.

It all still seemed unreal, a childhood dream come to life, and she was playing the starring role. She had thanked her father and his friends so many times that she felt sure they were sick of hearing it. Her father had bought each of his helper friends a nice bottle of scotch, as none of them would accept a penny of payment. In fact, her dad told her they almost seemed a little sad that the job was finished. Shannon had written them each a personal note and sent it to them in the mail, expressing her gratitude with the beautiful job they had done.

She'd spent most of the day putting her things away and arranging the furniture about a hundred different ways until she was finally happy with it. Now that it was dark outside, she didn't feel uncomfortable or spooked up here like she had wondered if she would. It felt good, and best of all, it felt like home.

She was glad now, that she'd decided to have the kitchen facing the ocean, and the living room looking out on the back of the property. Most people would have wanted the living room facing the ocean, but she liked looking over her property, with the beautiful greenery of her oak tree and the other trees framing the view.

The generator wasn't as loud as she had feared it might be. Her father had insulated the shed sufficiently to where it muffled the majority of the sound, so all she heard inside was a low droning, and after a while she found that she became accustomed to it and then had stopped noticing it at all. He had been very pleased with the end result, and so was Shannon, as a loud humming would have gotten on her nerves, yet she wouldn't have wanted to complain about it to her father for fear he'd think she was ungrateful.

Tomorrow was Monday, and she had to go to work. She'd feed her cat, Geisha, first, then she'd have coffee and a bear claw coffee cake for breakfast, possibly out on the deck so she could look at the ocean if it wasn't too foggy that early in the morning. Geisha was a huge, fat Siamese she'd had for nine years. The cat had been the last thing she'd moved to the new home, so as to upset the feline as little as possible. It hadn't been an issue though, as Geisha was a very laid back, confident cat who immediately began checking out her new home instead of hiding for a few days like most cats in new environments did. Not much rattled Geisha. Shannon planned to show her the deck, and try to somehow make it clear that they were living above the ground now, and Geisha would have to either stay on the deck, or climb down the tree if she wanted to go outside. The cat was so fat that Shannon was afraid she might hurt herself if she fell off the deck, and landing on her feet seemed unlikely, considering her bulk.

A big plus, among many, was that Shannon would now be closer to work than she'd been before. It was hardly a twenty minute drive now. She'd talked to her dad about rent, and he'd put up a fuss. He finally agreed she could pay him, but he wouldn't accept more than about a fourth of what she'd been paying for her prior apartment. Her hours at work had been cut down to only twenty a week, and she'd been worrying about finding another job, but It didn't matter now, as living would be a lot less expensive for her. The reduced rent and saving gasoline to get to work alone would make a world of difference. For once, she'd have money left over instead of living from paycheck to paycheck. Her dad urged her to keep her part time job and not look for full time work so she could enjoy her new home even more. She had to agree-working only two or three days a week would also give her a lot more time to spend putting the finishing touches on her home, plant her flowers, enjoy the beach.

The beach… guys… She tried to think of men as little as possible. She was not much different than the next girl, enjoyed looking at them, and appreciating their bodies. But none of them made her want to stick with them. Or even get to know them, really. And she didn't want to get attached. She had a fear of abandonment, and had been told it was because she'd lost her mother. She hoped that some day she would meet a man who was special enough to help her overcome her fears. But for right now, she was happy being alone.

She had a front and back door, and there was another tree a few feet out from the deck, so if under dire circumstances, she couldn't get out the front door, which was at the far corner of the kitchen, she could go out the back and either run around to the ladder on the opposite side, or jump from the deck railing to the tree trunk and slide down it. That was only in an emergency, if for instance there were a fire, or a burglar. Now she was appreciating that her dad had had the foresight to make sure she had two means of escape. He seemed to think of everything. He'd also recommended two ladders—one by each door, but she felt one was enough—she was agile and quick.

Thinking about these things as she made her bed brought her a strange blend of emotions. Excitement, nervousness and a dash of trepidation. Not having a boyfriend or husband had its downfalls. Men were good for protection, but, she reminded herself again, she was content being alone—just herself and Geisha and their new, magical life that, against all odds, had become a reality. She just needed some time to adjust.

She'd gone ahead and put beads in the kitchen doorway- all the way from the ceiling to the floor. It was a nice touch, and separated the kitchen from the living room/dining area. They had shone brightly when the late afternoon sun had come through the window. They were light blue and white, speckled with flecks of some kind of glittery substance inside. Now that it was dark outside, and only her kitchen light and the lamp on the end table were lit, the beads reflected sparkles, which skittered here and there, dancing along the walls. Shannon loved the effect. She smoothed her sheets now and put a favorite blanket on top, then her cherished fake fur comforter that her mother had given her. It was so soft, and she'd often smooth it against her cheek, remembering how she and her mother would sometimes snuggle under it on a winter night and read a book together or talk.

Her thoughts wandered back to the male sex again. That always seemed to happen, unbidden. She supposed it was natural. She was young, and now that she lived at the beach, guys would be everywhere. She'd dated a few guys, but that special spark had never come into being, much less a flame. She'd never been in love, and wondered now if she'd ever find it. She did long for a man's touch, his kiss, to be made love to. But she felt she wasn't ready, and so she kept men at a distance, never encouraging their attentions. Making love in the past had never been what it was cracked up to be. In short, she found the male sex wanting. Looking at them was alright, but touching… no, in most cases, she'd rather not. Sometimes she wondered if something might be the matter with her. She hadn't even been on a date in many months.

When her phone line had been put in, the guy who came out to do the work had been nice looking, and had flirted mildly with her. He was nice, and a lot of girls would have responded to his flirtation, but she just couldn't. It was just like with the other guys in the past. Something was missing, something she couldn't describe, although she'd tried. Sometimes her fellow employees would be discussing men in the lunch room. They'd ask her why she didn't have a boyfriend, but she had no answer. How do you explain to someone that you're looking for a certain something that no one seems to have? And you're not even sure_ yourself _what that something is?

The phone rang. Her first phone call! Shannon picked it up. It was her father.

"Honey, I forgot to tell you about the generator. It runs on diesel gas, and I'll be bringing some over about once a week, or however often you use it up. We'll have to watch the levels so we know when we need to get it, before it gets too low."

"I can do that, Daddy. Just tell me what to do."

"I'll show you how to check it when I bring the gas over. I'm not sure how quickly it'll be used, so I'll bring quite a bit the first time, and check it again when I visit next. But you're good for now—I filled the tank yesterday." Her dad always visited her on a regular basis, so he'd be coming over anyway. It was just that she hated having to bother him with things if it were possible for her to do them herself.

"So how are you taking to your first night up there?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

"I'm loving it. I've got more beads, in the kitchen doorway. It looks really good. They sparkle."

"Now, don't you go becoming too much of a hippie," Phil teased.

"Oh, don't worry. I have a treehouse with all the amenities, so I don't need to live out of a VW van, or go without bathing," she laughed.

"Yes, I like my little girl just like she is," he said, and it made her smile. She wasn't planning on changing anyway.

The first time she saw him, it was about a week later, and he was only a speck in the distance, heading toward her property. She could see it was a person who was running, and as he got closer, it became clear he was a male person without a shirt, in red shorts, or maybe swim trunks—she couldn't be sure at that distance. It was early morning, a beautiful spring day, and she wasn't currently on the deck, but spotted him through her sliding glass door as she sat on the couch snuggling with Geisha.

As he drew nearer, and then crossed her property line, she bristled a bit. There might not be a fence, but _he was on her property._ She didn't like that, and took it personally. The closer he got, the angrier she became. Suddenly, he stopped abruptly, staring up at the treehouse. She would have given a chunk of change to know what he was thinking. Was he admiring it, wondering why the thing was so huge? He'd been moving at a good clip, obviously serious about his fitness, but now he looked a little on the paralyzed side. She could imagine his eyes were taking in everything about her home that was visible to him. But damn it—what did she care what he thought? He was _trespassing!_

Davy could hardly believe what he was seeing. He'd recently started running again, now that spring had arrived. It was his preferred exercise during spring and summer. During winter he did a variety of other sports. He usually ran on the beach, but sometimes he liked a change in scenery, so he'd ventured a different way this morning. It was refreshing and exhilarating—it felt good. He'd been this way a few times in the past. Then he saw it…something that hadn't been there before. There, in a big oak tree he saw a huge brown blob. That's what it had looked like at a distance of a few hundred yards. As he drew closer, he saw that it was a house. But wait a minute, it was up in a tree! Not a normal house, but a _treehouse!_ And what a treehouse! He'd seen his share of treehouses, but nothing even remotely like this one. This was no backyard kids' treehouse. It almost knocked him flat on his butt, he was so jolted. He closer he got, the bigger it became. Did treehouses like this even exist? This one did, unless his vision was playing tricks on him, but honestly… he hadn't even known a treehouse could be _made _that big! And he was _sure_ it hadn't been here before.

The fascination held him in a trance. It was as big as a small apartment, and it had a deck too. He saw the ladder, the carport, which was on the side, and a small car parked under it. The biggest shock, however, was the fact that there was no other dwelling on the property. Just the treehouse, nothing else. Now he was transfixed-this place had him completely enthralled. He scoured every inch of it with his very observant eyes. He knew now that he_ had _to see the other side of it—the side that faced the ocean. His curiosity had completely taken him over.

Davy began running again, although more of a jog now, still taking in every aspect of the building. He was on his way to the front of it when a shrill voice came out of the blue, scaring the living shit out of him.

"Do you realize this is private property?" Demanded the voice, which was distinctly female. "You're on my property… _get off_!" This woman sounded like she was mad enough to spit, and probably to shoot him too, he thought, a bolt of fear stabbing at his gut.

"Wait, now… hold on!" he cried out. "I'm only running, exercising, and didn't realize this was private property. I'm sorry, happy May Day!" he called over his shoulder as he sped, hell bent for leather away from the voice and the treehouse.

_Happy May Day?_ Shannon realized then that today was May first.

As Shannon watched him pick up tremendous speed, she couldn't help but admire his athleticism. He was really moving! Graceful too. And she'd noticed that he had an English accent. A very pleasant one. It had made her stomach do a bit of a flip-flop. He'd come quite close—maybe forty feet from the treehouse, and she had seen that he had dark, longish hair. He was shiny with sweat from his run, his arms very toned, his skin already tan, even though summer hadn't yet arrived. He must tan easily, or maybe he spent time on the beach almost daily.

She felt a moment of misgiving. She'd been awfully rude. But fierce possessiveness had clutched her, and she'd yelled at him without even thinking. It would have been much more civil to at least come out onto the deck and explain to him calmly that he was on her property, not to screech at him as she had. And he'd been so polite…

Davy had seen the silhouette of a woman on the other side of the big glass window. The vision had been fleeting, but he'd seen enough to stir his emotions. A slender, feminine form with long lighter colored hair, holding a huge cat as she screamed at him. That was only a split second before he'd high-tailed it out of there, but the ephemeral image was emblazoned in his brain.

For the rest of his run, she stayed firmly etched in his mind's eye. She must like animals, or at least cats, and Davy remembered his mother's words about how a person who loved animals couldn't be all bad. She must_ live_ in that treehouse! The more he thought about it, the more engrossed he became in wanting to know more.

Frigid—that's what she probably was, he told himself. A man hater. She'd isolated herself up there. But a moment later he knew he was only thinking these thoughts out of self- protection. Because yes, she'd hurt his ego. He was used to girls showing interest in him, not ordering him away.

She was right, he'd been trespassing. He should have been more vigilant. But still, he hadn't done it on purpose, and you'd think she'd cut him a little slack. Give him a milder warning. After all, this was his first offense. And he didn't plan on another…

When Davy got home, he debated inwardly if he should or shouldn't tell the others about his discovery. He decided not to—it wasn't that he didn't trust them… he just didn't want them being nosy and driving over there or something, to check out the place. The resident was already fired up enough as it was. She didn't need any more looky-loos. So Davy kept his mouth shut, but still, he couldn't stop thinking about that treehouse. What he wouldn't give to see the inside of it! And, admittedly, get another glimpse of the mystery woman with the raging temper.

Shannon's father came over the next day, wanting to see for himself how she was doing, and admiring what she'd done with the house, complimenting her on it.

"It looks great, Shannon. I really like what you've done with it." His words meant more to her than he'd ever know.

At her request, they walked the property line, making sure there were markers present. There were, but they weren't as clearly defined as she would have liked them to be. Weeds were all but covering some of them, and they were ground level, and nearly the same color as the sandy soil. Not exactly prominent. She'd pulled all the weeds, but hadn't done this stretch, as she wasn't sure exactly where the property line was. It was back a bit further than she'd thought. Shannon wanted the markers to stand out, so her dad suggested she paint them red or orange—something that would be more obvious. So she resolved that she would paint them as soon as possible.

"Why are you so concerned about the property lines? Have you had any trouble?"

"Oh, just a jogger who cut across the land on his route. I don't think he realized it was private property. Still, I don't want anyone making a habit of it."

Her dad nodded. "I can fence it in for you, then you won't have to worry."

"Nonsense, Daddy! It's no big deal, really. There's no hurry at all for the fence. I doubt he'll ever try it again anyway, with the tongue lashing I gave him."

Her dad smiled. His daughter could be very scrappy and discordant if something she believed in strongly was violated. It didn't happen often, but when it did, she was not one to back down. And he could understand her not wanting a stranger traipsing over her land. It would annoy him too. An acre of land would take him quite a while to fence in, unless he hired someone. He wouldn't ask his friends to help, as they'd already done more than they should have been expected to. If he hired someone, they'd charge a lot of money for that much land. He could fence in a small yard, but somehow he knew Shannon wouldn't be comfortable with that. It would be almost worse than no fencing at all, as people might think the rest of the land didn't belong to her, making things worse.

"How was his attitude?" Phil asked her.

"Oh, he was very apologetic about it. I actually feel a little guilty about the way I screamed at him. I think he's harmless, and I doubt he'll ever come back."

"If he does, you call the police right away—they would get here way before I could."

"I realize that, and really, Daddy, I'm not worried. I just got too hot under the collar and kind of blew my stack."

"Want me to leave one of my shotguns with you?"

"Oh no… that won't be necessary. Like I said, I doubt I'll ever see him again."

Shannon worked for the next two days, so wasn't home to keep an eye out, and Davy, despite himself, had run by the area again, but keeping well away from the house. He was just too inquisitive to stay away. With perfectly good intentions, he'd started out running at the beach, but somehow ended up going inland, toward the mysterious treehouse again. His legs just seemed to carry him that way. He saw that the car previously parked under the carport wasn't there, but he wasn't going to take advantage of that to get a closer view, even though it was killing him to stay so far away.

Peter had been showing an interest in running with Davy. He loved doing anything with Davy, as Davy was in a way, his hero. He looked up to him at the very least. He wanted to get in the same fine physical shape Davy was in, so asked Davy if he could join him on his morning runs, before practice.

Davy was reluctant, fearing Peter would notice the treehouse, but couldn't turn him down, as he harbored a soft spot for the blonde. The two of them got along fabulously, always having fun, no matter what they did. He wasn't willing to stop running in that area, however, even if Peter were with him. He didn't want to miss a chance of getting a look at the mystery woman. Peter probably wouldn't even notice the treehouse anyway.

As it happened, that third morning, as Shannon was preparing to go outside to pull the weeds off the markers and paint them, she saw the same runner go by while she was still in the house. _Damn! _If only she'd gotten a slightly earlier start, she might have been able to get close enough to point out the markers to him, because it appeared to her that he was _inside_ of the markers when he ran by. And, in fact, he was. He just couldn't resist getting just a little bit closer, hoping she wouldn't see him, or at least fail to notice that he was a few yards inside the markers. But she was observant—something she prided herself on. And the anger moved swiftly up her body, making her face red, and her veins to pump the blood hot in her neck. But there was nothing she could do at this distance.

Earlier, Peter had started out running with Davy, but it was soon obvious that Davy was much more fleet of foot, and quickly left him behind. Davy had slowed down numerous times, but even so, Peter had not been working out, and he couldn't keep up.

"Damn it, Pete. If you can't keep up, I can't let you slow me down. I'll never reach my goals if I have to keep waiting on you," he complained.

"I know, I know. Just go ahead. I don't mind. I'll see you back at the Pad," said Peter, resigned to having to trail way behind Davy until his fitness was improved. This meant that Shannon was at the property line, paint can and brush in hand just as Peter was jogging by. Peter, being ignorant of anything that had happened prior, was inside her property line, and that was just enough to set Shannon off even worse than she'd exploded at Davy. _Another _one!

"This is my property! You're inside it right now! Look! Look at these markers! I'm getting ready to paint them, damn it!" This was the final straw for her. Was everyone and their brother going to end up wandering all over her property? Would people start making camp there? She knew she was being unreasonable, but this was getting totally out of hand.

Then she got a closer look at the guy when he slowed to a walk. He was leaning slightly down, trying to see the barely visible markers. Blonde, with thick hair so shiny it gleamed. It also fell into his eyes, and he flipped his head to get it out of the way so he could look at her. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt and pants._ Maybe not quite as serious about fitness as the other guy, _she thought.

"Gee, I'm terribly sorry," he said. His hazel eyes showing hurt and disappointment in himself.

At first she thought he was being sarcastic, but soon realized he was, instead, perfectly sincere. No one, but _no one,_ could exude that air of innocence he had unless it was genuine. He also didn't carry that slight edge of cockiness that the other guy had.

"I really am sorry. I never would have done it if I'd known…" he continued. He was also actually quite cute, she surmised. Young, too.

Her first inclination was to forgive him immediately, and just remind him not to ever come inside the markers again. But no, she reprimanded herself, that would be too forgiving on her part. She had to be firm. Let him know she meant business.

But at the same time, something about him screamed _gentle, sweet, innocent, benign._

"Oh… um, a guy just ran by here a short while ago, and he did it one other time too… came almost all the way up to my house, and… then I see you coming inside my property line… and I guess it's making me really anxious and… irritable," she uttered softly. He smiled then, and a deep dimple appeared in his right cheek. She thought she'd die on her feet.

_Oh my God._

She scrambled for words, suddenly forgetting what they'd been talking about. She felt something odd in her belly, her limbs. Like she wasn't solid anymore, like pudding that was slowly melting in the sun. What made it even worse was it wasn't a _knowing _smile, but an innocent one. Like the guy didn't have the slightest idea of what that smile was doing to her.

"I didn't mean to sound so harsh," she threw in. "But you are in the wrong," she forced these last words out in a desperate attempt to regain control.

"But…" she continued, schooling her voice to continue to sound stern, "Now you know, and I expect you to stay clear from now on."

"Oh, of course I will!" Peter immediately ran a few leaping steps until he was outside the markers. In spite of herself, Shannon felt like giggling. But she didn't. She couldn't let him think she wasn't dead serious for a single second.

"Need any help painting those?" he asked, and the irreproachable look in his eyes convinced her that his offer was genuine.

"No, thank you. I think you should be on your way," she said, coldly turning her back to him as she fiddled with the paint can, shiftily watching him from the edge of her vision.

He seemed to deflate like a balloon. Straight from robust cheerfulness to dejected, dashed hopes, he turned to continue his jogging path, but now several feet on the other side of the markers.

"Have a good day," he said politely as he reluctantly carried on with his run.

She wondered how many joggers used this area. It seemed strange that there had been two within a few minutes of each other, on the same day. It was also the same time she'd seen the first guy that first day—about eight- thirty. She had tomorrow off. A slow smile spread across her face. She wondered if she should be standing right here, by the markers, tomorrow morning at eight-thirty, just to be sure those two got the message, loud and clear…


	4. Chapter 4

"Hurry up, Pete. Mike wants to start practice a little early today. We need to get going—I have to get my run in!" Davy was practically foaming at the mouth. He couldn't believe Peter hadn't even noticed the treehouse yesterday! Davy knew why though. Peter was too busy staring at the mystery woman, and Davy had missed out! God, he was mad about that. But he'd listened to the exchange they'd had as Peter had excitedly told him every detail.

"And she was so pretty!" Peter's eyes were snapping with delight. "Maybe we'll see her again this morning!"

"If so, I'll be the first one there," Davy commented, feeling somewhat self- satisfied that he'd get to see her first. Peter didn't comment on that, and it made Davy wonder what he was thinking. Davy had given Peter a run-down of his own encounter with the mystery woman a few days ago.

"Why didn't you tell me before this?" He had known that would be the first question Peter would ask. Davy knew him so damn well.

"I didn't want any of you guys going over there and gawking at her. I made her upset enough as it was. And why are you so eager to see her? She treated you like shit, from what you said."

"Oh, I don't think she meant to."

"So you think she's all bluff?"

"I don't know, but I do know I get a good feeling about her. I don't think she's evil—just a little prickly."

A_ little _prickly?

Off they went, Davy pushing a bit more speed out of himself to be sure he got sufficient space between himself and Peter. He reached Shannon's property a little before eight, Peter so far behind that he wasn't visible anymore. She wasn't there! The markers were painted bright red though, just as Peter had said they would be, and the weeds had also been completely removed.

Davy looked at the house, but saw nothing. Well, he couldn't stay here, just standing around, looking like a doofus, waiting for her to appear. That would really make him look stupid. He didn't know what to do. The disappointment rankled him. His stomach had been in knots ever since he'd gotten out of bed. He had no idea why she fascinated him so—he hadn't really even seen her yet—just her outline in the window. It grated on his nerves that a woman he didn't even know could have this kind of control over him.

She could be watching him right now, laughing to herself about him just standing there like a fool. So with palpable unwillingness, he began to run again. He didn't want to look back over his shoulder as often as he did until the treehouse was out of sight, but he couldn't help it.

Shannon had seen Davy from her window. He was early. She hadn't anticipated that. She'd been all ready to have a very satisfying go at him, and now he was disappearing. She'd seen him staring at the house, but she had no way of knowing if the house was his focus of attention, or herself. Fine… she didn't want to run into him again anyway. She had a faint notion that he thought a little too much of himself. Maybe that was why she had wanted to yell at him again. To put him in his place. But that didn't make sense, as he hadn't copped an attitude that day. He'd been so gracious. Maybe her lack of male attention was making her bitchy…

Oh well… she decided to go outside anyway just in case that blonde one showed up. You never knew… and sure enough, she was out by the markers when Peter jogged up. She really hadn't expected to see him today. Those two _must _know each other. They had to have run into to each other on their morning runs at some time or another.

Well, she'd take out her orneriness on him! That's what she'd do!

"Didn't I tell you to stay clear?" were her words of greeting as he jogged up. Peter's eyes grew wide, and he gulped.

"I'm not on your property though, ma'am," his voice sounded like a plea, only annoying her further.

"But you're just about as close as you can get, aren't you? Taunting me! Trying to show me you can still run by here just because you're on the other side of the markers!"

Peter couldn't help allowing his eyes to sweep over her. The silky reddish blonde hair, the very bright green eyes, the shapely form… wow. He hadn't noticed just how breathtaking she was on the first meeting, mostly from fear at her outburst. But now he just couldn't stop looking…

"Why are you staring at me?" she demanded.

"Can't help it," he said after an awkward pause. "You're just so pretty."

Shannon paused, dumbfounded. That was one of the last things on earth she'd expected to hear, and it knocked her off kilter. Everything she was going to say was forgotten, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable… and embarrassed. How did one respond to a comment like that? Should she be angry?

_Should_ be angry. Wait a minute—she tried to analyze her feelings quickly. She wasn't really angry, but was pretending to be. Why? Heck if she knew.

"Oh, so now you're going to try flattering me?"

Peter looked confused. "No, I was just telling the truth."

Well, if he wasn't almost impossible to be mad at! He appeared meek and shy, but how was she to know he wasn't putting on an act? She wasn't used to being complimented. She just stared at him, not a single thing coming to mind that she could say. So there they stood, just staring at each other.

Right about then, Davy showed up, having retraced his steps, wondering if Peter might have spied the treehouse and frankly, being so curious that he hadn't been able to resist. That's when he saw them standing there, eyes locked. Confusing emotions surged through him.

"Oh, _you_!" exclaimed Shannon, wrinkling up her nose at Davy as if he stunk.

Davy was instantly enchanted with her, just like Peter, but he wasn't going to let on.

"Why are you talking to him, and acting disgusted when I show up?" he asked.

"Because this one isn't trespassing like you did! This one is much more respectful!" was her tart retort.

"But I didn't know I was on your property, or I wouldn't have done it. I already told you that."

Peter was perplexed—first he'd been her target, and now Davy was.

"You look too smug for your own good. Probably stuck up too," she said to Davy.

That's when Davy had had enough. "I've had to listen to you yelling at me twice now, for no good reason. Well, it's no more mister nice guy! Stop giving me a hard time! I haven't done a thing to you. Come on, Peter, let's go!" Davy grabbed Peter's sleeve and jerked him back onto the trail Davy had blazed. Peter had to run because Davy had ahold of him and Davy was strong, so all Peter could do was turn his head to her as they ran and say, "Nice meeting you!"

Shannon was floored. All she'd seen of Davy before had been his dark hair. Now that she'd seen him up close, she'd nearly gaped at him, grinding herself to a harsh halt before he realized she was admiring him. Those twinkly brown eyes! Peter was definitely cute, but Davy's good looks were almost overwhelmingly so. Now she knew why she'd had the idea that he was conceited. Even though she hadn't been able to see his handsomeness before because of the distance, she'd _sensed_ he had something special. Something a woman picks up on instinctively.

He wasn't shy like Peter—he was confident, self-assured. Peter would make a much better first impression if he'd had Davy's confidence. But Peter underplayed himself, and she was sure he didn't even know what kind of appeal he had. Davy, in comparison, knew very well what he had, no doubt through years of experience with girls throwing themselves at him.

He wasn't tall. In fact, he was short—very short. He wasn't any taller than she was. But she doubted women paid much attention to that. The rest of him more than made up for his lack of height.

She'd heard him call the blonde guy Peter, so evidently they not only knew each other, but were friends, otherwise the little one wouldn't be hauling Peter off like that. Rude… that's what it was. If she and Peter were talking, who did he think he was, to butt in on their conversation? Now she was more annoyed with him than ever. If she wanted to be friends with Peter, or at least speak to him as he jogged by, then she damn well would! And to hell with the little one!

Davy was so bothered that he didn't talk to Peter the rest of the way back to the Pad. Fearing Peter might try to turn around and go back, Davy slowed his pace to be sure that didn't happen. After a while, when Davy had had a chance to cool off, and wasn't quite so put out, and asked Peter what he'd thought of the enormous treehouse.

"What treehouse?" Yep, Davy was right—Peter still hadn't noticed it.

"She has a treehouse as big as a small apartment, and she lives in it. It's the only thing on the property," explained Davy. When he'd told Peter about his encounter with the woman the first time, he hadn't mentioned the treehouse—just that she'd come unglued when he trespassed.

"I never even saw it."

"I know why—you were too busy looking at her," accused Davy.

Peter blushed. "Yeah, I guess I was. I still think she's a nice person underneath. She's the kind that you have to get to know." Sage advice from someone who was a pretty good judge of character, reflected Davy. Peter was positive about life, and people. A natural born optimist. Sometimes Davy envied him, because Peter refused to see the bad in people, and therefore always expected a favorable outcome. Peter wasn't wired for worry most of the time. He took one day at a time, and had faith that things would always turn out for the best. Just one of the many things Davy revered about Peter.

"Anyway, you'll dig that treehouse. It's a trip."

Davy's take no shit attitude was getting him nowhere. Every time he jogged by Shannon's place, things got worse. She thought he was jogging by just to bait her. But in reality, he was doing it in an effort to see her—feast his eyes on her, give himself more material for fantasies about her for when he was alone. He was damned if he knew why both he and Peter were so captivated by the witch.

Most of the time they glared at each other as he ran by, and this did nothing to improve Shannon's opinion of Davy. Davy did notice she just happened to be outside many of the days he ran by, but he thought she just enjoyed being outdoors. He didn't know she secretly enjoyed this taunting—this advance and retreat game of theirs. Their scoffs, eye rolls and smirks just added fuel to the fire. But what Davy didn't realize was that if he didn't change his approach, and his manner, he wasn't going to get to see the good side of her that Peter insisted was there. Shannon wasn't shallow enough to fall for his looks alone.

Peter, as nonthreatening and unassuming as he was, was having an effect on her, and it was much more positive than Davy's effect. He always greeted her pleasantly, and had complimented her on the treehouse, berating himself for not noticing it sooner. And, with his unwitting charm and clever, spur of the moment quips, he'd actually gotten her to smile! She'd told him her name too, making Davy unbearably envious. So far though, she hadn't really taken any extra time to talk to him. She was always busy pulling weeds or standing watch while her obese Siamese cat ran around exploring, taking care not to pay much attention to Peter. Or so he thought… what he didn't know was that every time he resumed his run after greeting her, she watched him until he was completely out of sight. He was looking better and better to her all the time. She now suspected he wasn't quite as young as his demeanor made him out to be. She was pretty sure he was at least twenty. If she could just figure out a way of getting rid of that pesky little one, she just might be interested in getting to know Peter a little better.

The routine was always the same. Davy would always run by first, then Peter would show up a little later, then, if Peter lingered more than a couple of minutes, Davy would be back—presumably to collect Peter, but come on… Peter was a grown man! Shannon had a feeling Davy was just grabbing that extra opportunity to torment her again with his scornful, searing stares.

Truth was, Davy didn't want Peter talking to her any more than he already did, which was little more than a simple "hello, isn't it a beautiful morning," generic type of thing. The boys saw that Shannon's car was gone on some days, and they assumed she was working on those days.

One day, as Peter came by, Shannon was nowhere to be seen, and her car was parked in the carport. He stopped and scanned her property, and saw something that looked like limp Play Dough in one of the trees close to the big oak that held Shannon's treehouse. As he watched it, the thing began to move, then trash around, then to scream eerily. He realized then that it was Shannon's cat, stuck between two branches, and too fat to break free.

"Shannon!" he called. No answer, and no detected movement from inside the treehouse. Peter didn't hesitate any longer. She might get angry with him, but he would not let her cat continue to suffer for another moment. He ran as fast as he could to the tree and shimmied up about eight feet, talked quietly to Geisha, and extricated her within a couple of minutes.

"Wow, you were really wedged in there, weren't you?" he crooned to the feline.

Shannon, having let Geisha out first, then stopping to comb her hair, heard the raucous sounds from below. She came rushing down her ladder just as Peter was freeing Geisha, and she completely blew her top.

"Peter! What are you doing on my property! I told you never to cross the markers again!"

Then she saw that Peter had Geisha in his arms, holding her tenderly, unable to climb down the tree, as the cat was so heavy and unwieldy as to make it almost impossible. She ran to the base of the tree, and Peter handed Geisha down to her with great care.

"Oh, Geisha!" Shannon cried as she found a few scrapes where the hair was gone on the cat's body. "What happened to you? I almost have to watch you every second, don't I?"

"She was stuck in the tree, and you weren't around, and she needed to be rescued," said Peter. "I'm sorry I came on your property, but I just couldn't let her stay stuck like that."

"Oh Peter… come down. I'm so sorry for snapping at you! I only let her out a minute ago. I just saw you in the tree and didn't realize… I'm sorry."

Peter climbed down and they both looked Geisha over. "There's just a little fur scraped down to the skin here and there, but I don't see anything that looks serious," said Peter.

"Come in the house with me so I can clean her up, will you? I might need you to hold her—she's a love, but she can get a little intractable if she doesn't like something."

"Sure!" said Peter, pleased beyond words that she would invite him inside. His heart soared and raced with the suspense of seeing the inside of her home…but mainly, being able to spend more time with her. Oh, Davy was going to have a _cow_ when he heard about this!

Peter was overcome when he entered the treehouse. It was so groovy that he had no words. He silently looked around for what seemed ages before realizing he had a job to do—hold Geisha while Shannon cleaned her up.

The skin was only scraped in two places, and it was superficial, so Shannon washed the areas with soap and warm water, dried it, and applied a dab of antibiotic cream. Geisha growled and lashed her tail about the entire time, but didn't attempt to scratch or bite Peter as he held her gently, reassuring her with a low, hypnotic voice that made Shannon want to eat him up. He was bringing out the beast in her!

"She complains a lot, but she's all bark and no bite," said Peter, and Shannon laughed.

"Yep, you have her number alright! She can be grumpy when she doesn't get her way, but she'd never really hurt anyone. She's a 'sweetheart in disguise,' as her vet calls her."

"Okay, I guess she'll live," announced Shannon, and Peter released Geisha, who acted as if nothing had happened, licking herself casually.

"She's trying to act dignified," remarked Shannon. "So we won't know how offended she is with us treating her wounds."

"She's… kind of… _portly,"_ said Peter, not sure if he should even mention it. It couldn't be taken back now, but he was already regretting saying it.

Shannon was deadly silent for a few moments, then she burst into laughter, startling Peter. She bent over and just let loose with a full, natural, bubbly laugh that filled Peter with delighted amusement. When she got her breath back, Shannon said, "I love how you referred to her weight problem as _portly._ You're really funny, Peter. Anyway, I've been trying to get some weight off her, as the vet's scale said she weighs twenty-three pounds—about ten pounds more than she should be for her build. The vet said the average cat is about eight pounds, but Geisha is big boned, so that gives her a little leeway, but she still needs to lose at least several pounds, for her health. That's a lot of weight for a cat, and she loves her treats. It's my fault, I spoil her," she finished, looking a little ashamed.

"Ah, don't worry Shannon. You'll get the weight off her. She's a beautiful cat, and so is your treehouse. I'm sorry I didn't comment on it when we came in, but it kind of overwhelmed me—its outta site!" he said enthusiastically.

"Thank you. My father built it for me. Oh, have a seat, Peter. And again, thank you so much for rescuing Geisha. Would you like a cold drink?"

Oh… sure."

"I have beer. Do you like beer? Or something else?"

"Beer sounds good. That's very nice of you. I hope you'll join me—having a cold drink, that is," Peter was having trouble deciding what he should or shouldn't say in this situation. He figured he hadn't gone too wrong so far, as she hadn't thrown him out, and he'd even made her laugh. But, he didn't really know what to talk about with her. Talking to women was not his forte. He seemed to blow it every time he tried. However, he was happy to find that Shannon was easy to talk to, and before he knew it, they were eagerly discussing all sorts of subjects with ease.

Shannon got herself a beer as well, and settled beside him on the couch. At first she was going to sit on the loveseat, but it seemed so natural to just sit down next to him. He seemed to draw her in. She liked everything about him. His looks, his smile, and most of all, his sweetness. She didn't usually drink beer in the morning, but seeing how he seemed a bit nervous, she made an exception so he wouldn't feel awkward by being the only one drinking it.

"This tastes good," Peter placed his beer carefully on a coaster on the coffee table after sipping it. "It's getting warm fast this spring."

"Yes, I noticed that. I love the heat. Peter… I know we've been greeting each other every morning, but we haven't really talked, so I don't know much about you… your friend always seems to put an end to us talking, even if we haven't even really started," she smiled.

"Davy… yeah, Davy and I live together with two other guys, and yeah, he can get a little on the bossy side, but we're best friends and he'd do anything for me." Peter felt a need to establish that fact first before he said anything else.

"Oh, so you have three roommates?"

"Yeah, and we're the Monkees. We're a rock 'n roll band."

"Really? The four of you are a band?" Shannon tried to picture Peter and Davy singing and playing together.

"Yes, we are. We play gigs in town, and actually, wherever we can get them."

"I don't go out to clubs, or I might have seen you before. What do you play, Peter?"

"Bass guitar. Mike plays guitar, Micky plays drums, and Davy percussion, although I'm teaching him drums and bass. Micky, Mike and Davy have the main voices. I usually do mostly backup singing. I'm interested in a lot of instruments." He didn't want to boast about how many instruments he could play, but at the same time he really_ did_ want to, considering he'd just about admitted to her that his voice wasn't particularly strong. For some reason he felt the need to let her know he was good at something.

"What instruments?"

Ah yes… she'd asked, so he'd answer. "Bass, of course, guitar, french horn, keyboards, piano, organ, harpsichord, banjo, ukuele, a little harp."

"Wow, you play all those?" Shannon was really intrigued now. "That is impressive!"

Now she'd embarrassed him.

"I love music," he declared simply.

Shannon was astonished that he hadn't volunteered this information earlier, in order to impress her. The guys she'd hung around had always tooted their own horns whenever they saw the slightest opportunity. This guy was not only sweet, he was humble. She was aware of a tingling in her middle. It traveled around, even down into her fingers and toes. She was pretty sure it was Peter's presence, as she hadn't felt this before. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact, it was _very_ pleasant. There was a heat that hadn't been present before, and it wasn't just the weather. Somehow, Peter sitting beside her was filling her with a different brand of heat that was, in fact, very welcome. _Stimulating_… that's what it was.

Shannon happened to look out the window when there was a slight pause in the conversation. There was Davy… jogging the opposite way. Looking for Peter, of course. Peter saw him too, but pretended not to. He didn't want to give up any available time with Shannon. He was feeling a little intoxicated with her receptiveness to his ramblings about music and his love for it. Just sitting beside her was almost undoing him.

Five minutes later, Davy went by again, this time in the other direction. Davy looked at the treehouse, trying to appear casual, but it was only too clear he was agitated.

"He's probably figured out I'm up here with you, since I'm not on the jogging trail, and you aren't outside," Peter said unnecessarily. "We practice every morning, and Mike will be getting antsy too pretty soon, if I don't get back."

"Oh, well… I don't want to hold you up. But it was very enjoyable, talking to you. I hope you'll come back again sometime to visit again," Shannon was downright appalled at her own words. She was actually encouraging him to return! She hadn't tried to inspire male attention in God knew how long.

But Peter… Peter was different. His whole aura told her so. He was an excellent conversationalist, a bit clumsy with the female sex, which only made him more alluring, and he was, hopefully, interested in her as well. Now, if she could only find some way to keep that damn Davy from roaming around, trying to snatch him away from her…


	5. Chapter 5

Peter killed the rest of his beer and smiled diffidently at Shannon.

"Before I go, I'll show you where I live if you like… I bet you can see it out of your kitchen window."

"Really? It's that close?" Peter nodded.

They went into the kitchen, the beads making a light, pleasant hybrid noise somewhere between a tinkle and a wooden windchime as they brushed by them. "I like that," Peter said of the noise, throwing in a devastating smile, then he pointed out the Pad to Shannon. You could, indeed, see it! Mostly just the roof and the steps on the side, but there it was!

It's a two-story!" Shannon commented.

"Yeah, but it's a bachelor's Pad. You know, doesn't have much style, or a woman's touch," Peter looked slightly embarrassed, and Shannon thought she knew why. Indeed the outside was in need of a good paint job.

"Our landlord isn't the most… handy," added Peter. "He's also cheap," he laughed, and it had the flavor of a bit of self-consiousness. "I really have to go now. Man, I hate to, but Davy's got ants in his pants out there," said Peter, as they went back into the living room and watched as Davy paced the property line. His words had Shannon laughing again.

"You know something? I haven't laughed this much in a long time. What am I going to have to do, Peter? Kidnap you to get you away from Davy?"

Peter's turn to laugh. "It's not as bad as all of that. After all, I'm twenty-four years old. He doesn't keep me under lock and key. And… I wouldn't mind being kidnapped by you at all," Peter's face flushed.

Oh, the effect this flirting was having on her! As they climbed down the ladder, Davy's eyes shooting darts through them, they laughed, and it carried over to Davy, making him even more incensed than he already was.

"Thanks for the beer too," added Peter.

Peter waved at Shannon as he jogged back to Davy. The word "beer" had also reached Davy's ears. She'd even offered him beer? Davy was flabbergasted. Davy let Peter have it with both barrels after he made sure they were out of Shannon's sight. Davy didn't want her to know how much it bothered him. Shannon had gone back into the treehouse anyway, as soon as Peter left, apparently finding it distasteful to be anywhere near Davy.

"Why were you in there? Are you crazy? And _how_ did you get in there? That woman could be dangerous!"

Peter giggled. "She's not dangerous with _me,"_ he said straightforwardly. "I'm trying to build a rapport with her, Davy. You need to start being nice so she'll see you for the person you really are."

That gave Davy pause for a moment. Peter was so unselfish—he was even urging Davy to become friends with her, when Davy knew Peter was attracted to her. Davy's heart softened a bit.

"She invited me in after I rescued her cat, who was stuck in a tree," explained Peter a moment later.

"Oh, yeah, right. You rescued her cat out of a tree? You could be a little more original than that, couldn't you, Pete?"

"No… I really did! The cat was stuck between branches and couldn't squeeze out."

"So she asked you in?" Davy trained his dark eyes on Peter. He was ready to burst with intent interest. "What did it look like in there?"

"Oh man, it was wicked!" Peter then described the place, in as much detail as he could, to Davy.

"I'd love to see that. But she's really got it in for me."

"But she's nice, David. It's just that you two are stuck in a vicious cycle of being mean to each other."

So Peter really had been right. After all, Davy reminded himself—Peter was an excellent judge of character.

Oh no! Peter was suddenly abashed. How could he have been so blind! Here Shannon had been asking him about his life, and he hadn't inquired about hers at all. He didn't even know where she worked. Next time… if he was lucky enough to get another chance, he'd find out all about her. Peter was just too busy being thrilled with how things had gone to even think about it, until now.

Shannon spent a lot of time thinking about Peter after he'd left. She wished they'd had at least another hour together. He was fascinating. His life, what he did, his world, was like an adventure. Well, she lived in a treehouse, and that was an adventure in itself, but she could easily have talked to him for hours without losing any interest. And he was twenty-four! He was just very young looking with those freckles and that innocent expression he wore.

Things at work were bearable, but only barely so. A fellow employee, a young woman about her own age, disliked Shannon. Other employees had warned Shannon that Carol had to be stood up to, or she would walk all over you in a heartbeat. Shannon hadn't realized the seriousness of Carol's potential for nastiness, and now, after working with the woman for four years, and never having taken a stand, she'd missed her opportunity. Shannon knew that at this stage, it would be a huge undertaking to change the woman's attitude toward her. She was so accustomed to belittling Shannon and making snide, critical remarks that it was now an everyday, automatic thing.

Shannon thought it ironic that she could stand up to two young men very well about crossing her property lines, and actually be almost brutish, but turned into a meek, timid mouse with Carol. Carol was intimidating, and it had made Shannon's self -esteem go down every time Carol jumped on her. She didn't need negatives like that in her life.

There was another coworker that Carol also picked on, and Shannon could at least commiserate with her about it. Everyone else had gotten wise to Carol early on, and let her know they wouldn't take her crap, but Shannon and her coworker, Gretchen were the victims of this woman's wrath simply because they'd hoped Carol would realize at some point that they were good people. But it hadn't happened. They were precisely the kind of people Carol loved to prey on.

Shannon knew very well that Carol was the way she was because of self- worth issues. She needed someone to pick on to cover up her own insecurities. Gretchen understood it too, but neither one, after all this time, had the guts to tell Carol "where to go." Both of them knew that at this point, Carol would put up a much bigger fight than if they'd nipped her abuse in the bud.

Otherwise, Shannon loved her job. She liked working with the public, and being a supermarket checker certainly qualified. She saw all kinds—cheerful, friendly people as well as chronically grumpy, impossible to satisfy people. There were many regulars that she was always happy to see, and some that continually complained about the price of something, or insisted she'd overcharged them. But at least the cranky people in her checkout line were only temporary. Sooner or later they left the store, but Carol was always there, watching Shannon, just waiting for her to make the slightest mistake. And since Carol had been employed there a year longer, she felt she was somehow superior to Shannon, even though she was also a checker. And the fact that Carol had been there longer troubled Shannon, as the manager was more likely to believe Carol just because of that fact. It helped tremendously to be able to talk to Gretchen about it though. Gretchen knew just what it was like since she was a victim herself, and Carol had driven them both to tears a few times. They had never let Carol see though—they'd gone to the restroom or waited until they were off work to cry. Shannon often wondered why Carol was so unhappy with her life that she had to find fault with people who had trouble being assertive with her.

There was now something else to occupy Shannon's thoughts at work. Something positive, something to distract her from Carol's constant negativity. A blessing, really. Something Carol couldn't touch. And that something was Peter. She knew she was thinking of him too much, always wondering if she'd see him on her next day off, which was never more than a day or two away. But it seemed even a day or two was too long…

Even if she weren't attracted to Peter, she'd want someone like him for a friend. And that was very good, as she hadn't made the best choices with men in the past. After trying a number of times, she'd found she just couldn't force it if she wasn't feeling a connection to a man. Most of the time, she couldn't even hold a decent conversation with these men. They weren't interested in talking. They usually had one goal in mind, and that was sex. And that always turned out to be boring, then she'd find herself just wanting it over with, as there was no desire on her part. She guessed she hadn't taken a stand in that department either. She knew she shouldn't let men talk her into something she didn't want to do, but had gone ahead with sex on too many occasions, just to avoid friction. That was mainly why she'd stopped dating. These men could care less about friendship, and Shannon had always believed that you needed to be friends to be happy in a relationship. With none of the guys she'd dated turning her on, she'd wondered if something weren't wrong with her, but she was astute, and figured out that she just hadn't met the right one yet. It wasn't _supposed_ to be like this.

Shannon couldn't imagine Peter trying to talk anyone into sex. He was much too respectful and empathetic. He seemed to be sensitive. He had to be physically strong—he'd run all the way to the tree and climbed up for Geisha before she could even get down the ladder after hearing Geisha's howls. Yet, he was gentle as a lamb. She liked that… she _really_ liked that.

Shannon was shocked out of her daydream about Peter by Carol's irritating grumble. "You'll never get out of here if you don't close out your drawer." Shannon gave herself a sharp mental shake. _Damn!_ She tried not to ever let Carol catch anything amiss, but she'd been in a trance and forgotten to start making sure all the day's cash, checks and credit card totals matched what was in her cash register drawer. Luckily, it balanced easily today, and she was able to leave half an hour later.

Shannon and Gretchen left the store at the same time.

"What did Carol get on you about?" asked Gretchen, who had seen Carol's mean glare as she'd made a snide remark that Gretchen hadn't been able to hear.

"Oh, she caught me daydreaming for maybe all of fifteen seconds, and remarked that I needed to close out my drawer if I wanted to get out of here. What I'd like to know is, what does it matter to her?"

"Yeah, it's none of her business. Well, if it makes you feel any better, she got on me today too," said Gretchen. "Said I wasn't checking fast enough and the lines were getting too long."

"If she can't find anything, she'll make things up, so I doubt you were too slow."

"Do you think if the two of us went to the manager, he'd do something about her?" asked Gretchen.

"I really doubt it. You know how they favor people who have worked here the longest. They're always more inclined to believe them."

"I wonder if the others would go with us, to the manager, and it would be all of us against her," Gretchen looked thoughtful.

"He probably wouldn't do a thing, and then Carol would hassle us all the more because of it. You know how she's always kissing his ass." Shannon knew for a fact that the manager wouldn't believe her, or she would have complained long ago. She and Gretchen had gone over the problem many times in conversation and always decided that their hands were tied because other employees wouldn't want to risk their jobs, and Carol was a very good worker, thus valuable to the company, another thing in her favor. Shannon and Gretchen couldn't afford to risk their jobs either, both being single. So they always ended up like they did today—just sounding off to each other about it. It seemed to be a dead end situation.

Good, tomorrow she was off, and wouldn't have to even think about Carol! Shannon's spirits suddenly soared. Her chances of seeing Peter were good too, as he and Davy had their morning run at least ninety percent of the time. Shannon was hungry to lay her eyes on Peter… drink him in. She wondered if she could somehow talk him into coming inside for coffee, a beer, or whatever, on a daily basis. Only trouble was, there was no ready excuse to invite him in. And Davy was quite a hindrance. Not only that, but there was the fact that they practiced after their run in the morning, so his time was limited. Maybe she could ask Peter to come over after practice? She didn't know how often they had gigs, but afternoons or week nights, he might be free. And Davy couldn't stick his nose into it at that time of day because he'd have no excuse to whisk Peter off. Only way to find out was to ask Peter, but she felt insidious shyness creeping in. She feared rejection, and asking him over again so soon might make Peter so nervous that he'd panic and refuse. She had the feeling that he was liable to do something like that if he got overloaded with emotions, good or bad. She couldn't scare him because he might just run like a rabbit. She had to remain super casual and matter-of-fact. Peter needed to be handled with care. He had limited experience with women—that much was clear.

Damn it to hell! Mike had just announced they had to practice all day in order to be ready for the gig tonight. Just as Peter and Davy were getting ready for their run, Mike had informed them that he didn't feel confident enough on a couple of the songs they were going to perform, so he wanted to practice clear up until dinner time. So that meant no run this morning.

There was nothing Peter could do. He'd been bursting to see Shannon again since the day before yesterday, when he'd gone into her treehouse and they'd had that short amount of time to enjoy each other's company. Her car hadn't been there yesterday, so she must have been at work. And now today… he'd be gone all day. Not only today, but tomorrow too! Mike also wanted to practice all day tomorrow. He was afraid that they just weren't polished enough on two of their best songs, and he didn't want to lose any gigs, because the place they'd been performing at for the last two weeks paid very well. And this was Friday, so it couldn't be put off.

Peter couldn't call her—he didn't have her phone number. Not that he would call her anyway. He would never be able to summon up the nerve to. Who was he to her anyway? Just a jogger who ran by every day. He couldn't make this into too big of a deal when she probably never gave him another thought at any other time.

So Mike's plan was they'd practice all day, and come home for dinner, rest for a couple of hours, and then head to the club where they had the gig. After dinner, Peter astounded even himself when he went so far as to drive the Monkeemobile to the street nearest the front of her house, and had just sat there, parked, in the dusk, looking at the treehouse, which wasn't very visible from the street. He just wasn't courageous enough to get out of the car and go to her house. Even if he _did_ have the nerve, how would he knock? You can't really knock on a treehouse. He felt that climbing the ladder would be too presumptuous on his part. Like he'd be invading her space, and expecting her to welcome him. She might feel like she _had_ to let him in. He wondered if she'd even notice that he would be gone for two days. The waiting was eating him up. Well, at least there was only one more day to go…

Shannon was really surprised at how disappointed she was when Davy and Peter didn't show. She wondered if they'd chosen another route, in order to stay away from her. But that was ridiculous, she told herself. She was making herself too important. They had a life too—maybe they were just too busy. But when they failed to show again the next day, her thoughts turned to Peter. Maybe she'd scared him off. It might have been too much, too soon, to invite him inside. He had seemed comfortable by the time he'd left, but, glancing at the road they used for jogging behind her house one more time, her thoughts went into overdrive. She tried not to assume anything, but it sure seemed strange to her that they would miss _two _days in a row. What was even worse was that she had to work tomorrow…

Shannon was miserable the next day at work. This was the fourth day she hadn't seen Peter, and she felt almost as if she were suffering from withdrawal. Which of course, was ludicrous, given the small amount of time she'd spent with him. Gretchen noticed Shannon's state when they went on break, and asked her about it.

"Oh, it's really nothing. Just a guy I met, and I've seen pretty much every day since. And today's the fourth day of not seeing him because I have to work."

"I didn't know you'd met a guy!" Gretchen smiled. She was glad to hear this, as she knew about Shannon's mother passing, and how Shannon had lacked a certain sparkle ever since.

"And your comment about 'just a guy,' well, I don't buy that," Gretchen's eyes were teasing.

"I really don't know him that well yet, but he did impress me, yes."

"Who is he? Someone I know?"

Shannon spoke in a rush. "No, no one who works here, and not a customer. Don't get excited, because it's not much of a story. A jogger, of all things. It's a little complicated, but a friend of his trespassed on my property, and he and I really clashed. Then the guy in question, a friend of the first guy, started jogging too, and I jumped all over him too, also about the property line, but it didn't take long until I saw he's really a genuinely nice guy, and we started greeting each other every day as he went by, and one day Geisha got stuck in one of my trees, he saved her, risking his neck, I might add, as he she was eight feet up, and… you know how heavy she is. So I asked him inside, and really fell for the person he seems to be, that is, if he's not putting on an act. He's so fresh, Gretchen. Not fresh in the way it sounds, but like… oh this sounds so corny, but… I'll say it anyway. Fresh as a spring day. He reminds me of sunshine. Gives off this super innocent vibe. Honestly! It's impossible to describe him, but he's so sweet that I just want to squeeze his guts out!"

Gretchen laughed at this. "That was a fast story!"

"Well, I wanted to get it all in before we go back to work. Fifteen minutes isn't really long enough to tell you much, so I condensed it as much as possible."

Gretchen knew about the treehouse. She'd visited Shannon in her prior apartment a few times, and also knew Geisha. And Shannon trusted Gretchen not to tell anyone of her secret crush on Peter. Now Shannon felt a pang of guilt that she hadn't asked Gretchen to come see her treehouse yet. She knew Gretchen was dying to see it, but being the unassuming person she was, Gretchen was waiting to be asked. It was just that Shannon really felt more comfortable with her own company, and although she and Gretchen really got on well, and Gretchen had been a fantastic friend at work, she'd still put it off. She felt she didn't really need people in her life. Or at least, a bare minimum. Maybe… just possibly, Peter might be one of the few…there went her thoughts again!

Saturday. This was the fifth day, and Peter had still not shown up. Shannon was now almost sure Peter and Davy had decided to jog elsewhere. She might as well admit it to herself that Peter wasn't in any hurry to see her again. She'd jumped the gun, hard as she'd tried not to.

Shit! He just couldn't win. Either her car was gone, or he'd had to practice for the last five days! The timing had been all off. He hoped she wouldn't be working tomorrow, because after their gig tonight, Mike wouldn't be desperate to practice relentlessly the way he'd been driving them for the last two days. Tomorrow was Sunday, just about the only day of the week they usually didn't practice. They usually slept in late, what with all the hours of practicing and late nights at the weekend gigs. Not Peter though—not tomorrow. He was hoping he'd finally get to see her tomorrow, bright and early.

Peter dragged himself out of bed at 7:30. They hadn't gotten home from the gig until 2:30 that morning. He wanted to take a shower before jogging. Good thing Davy wasn't up yet, as he'd surely wonder why Peter was showering _before _jogging, instead of after. Then he would surely figure it out, and there would be no end to the teasing.

As he got ready, Peter wondered if Shannon was actively avoiding him. Maybe, on those days her car was gone, she was going somewhere to get away from him—but he tried to be practical—she had to work _sometime!_ But he couldn't help thinking she might be afraid he would suggest that he'd like to be invited into her house again. Hell, he'd be in seventh Heaven if he could just be able to greet her in her yard again! He wasn't a leech, or a stalker, but he didn't expect her to know that, since they'd only had one short period of real, quality time together. When he'd been in the treehouse with her, perhaps that insistent pressure Davy put on them had been too much for Shannon to want to bother with anymore. He had to stop analyzing all this or he'd make himself physically ill with worry. He wanted to appear carefree and chipper if he did get a chance to see her today.

Shannon was the picture of misery. One minute she wanted to stay home just to see if Peter was going to be a no-show again, and the next, she wanted to get out of there, go to the beach, which she hadn't done since she'd gotten here. The walk was only half a mile. It was warm enough now, and she hated feeling like she was held captive here, waiting for someone who had no intention of showing up. Only a fool would do that. Why put her life on hold?

So she changed into her swim suit, throwing a sleeveless blouse and shorts over it in case the breeze right off the ocean was cooler. It was, after all, only May, and sometimes bathing suit weather didn't come until early June.

Not long after she'd left, Peter jogged by her house. Her car was there—good! But, there was no Shannon or even Geisha to be seen. He looked up at the windows but didn't see a thing that would indicate she was there. He wanted in the worst way to cross the property line, but he also was aware that he shouldn't just assume she'd want him to do that.

He waited nearly ten minutes, trying to act casual, as if he were picking something off the ground, even stretching his back with his hands on his hips as if he were trying to loosen his muscles like he'd seen Davy do before a run. But he knew he was being transparent. It was obvious he was waiting for her to come out. And if she was there, and had wanted to see him, she would have come out by now.

So, forcing his feet to move, and feeling sluggish as hell, he pushed on and finished the jog, coming out on the beach and running in a wide arc on his way back in the direction of the Pad.

Shannon had seen the Pad as she stepped onto the sand. It was off to her right, maybe two hundred yards away. No way was she going to get any closer… but maybe she'd see one of the boys coming or going if she got lucky. She spread her beach towel on the sand about twenty feet from the water and watched the waves. There weren't a lot of people on the beach yet—it was still early, and it was definitely more chilly than it was at her house, so she kept her blouse and shorts on. She'd brought a book that she attempted to read, but it was no good. She couldn't even concentrate long enough to digest a single sentence. Why had she been so dumb as to think Peter might really enjoy her company, as she did his?

"Shannon," it was Peter's voice. She'd know it anywhere. She jerked her head around, and he was right beside her, sweaty and breathing hard. "I'm glad it was you—I wasn't positive."

"Peter!" In spite of herself, she smiled so wide that it felt like her cheeks were frozen in place. She wondered how long it had been since she'd been this glad to see someone.

"I ran by your house, and your car was there, but you weren't."

"I thought you wouldn't be coming by… it's been a long time."

"I know," he said. "We kept missing each other. Your car was gone for a couple days, and I figured you were working, and then, on Friday and Saturday, we had to practice all day because Mike was worried about some songs we had to get right for the weekend gigs, so Davy and I didn't get to go running. I guess I could have gotten up at five, and run by, but that wouldn't do any good, because I don't think you would have been up that early."

His explanation had been so swift that Shannon just couldn't stop smiling. "Yes, when my car is gone, I'm usually working. I don't leave the house that much, except for shopping or something. We sure did keep missing each other, didn't we?"

"Yeah, for a long time! This is the sixth day!"

So he'd kept track too. She felt warmth cascade over her, and it wasn't just the sun. She scooted over and motioned for him to sit beside her on the beach towel. The slight smell of his sweat got her caught up in desire in an instant. He had such a pleasant, masculine smell. It was unique. The spicy musk of his sweat just enhanced it.

"I can give you my phone number, Peter. That way maybe we can stay on the same page."

"Groovy! I'll give you mine too."

He looked gorgeous, his fair skin getting a little pink in the sun, his sun lightened hair lifting softly in the breeze, his hazel eyes just gleaming with, she hoped, pleasure at being with her. She still couldn't stop smiling.

"You're not mean at all. I keep telling Davy that, but you two got off on the wrong foot," said Peter a bit glumly.

"You told Davy I'm nice?"

"Yeah, he was asking about you inviting me into your treehouse, and he was worried a little bit about me, I think. I told him you're nice, but I don't think he believed me. You know… he's nice too," he said in a quieter tone, fishing to see what her feelings were.

"He is? He doesn't come off that way," she'd really rather be talking about something else besides that smart mouthed Brit right now.

"He just got upset when you yelled at him. You should give him a chance. I told him he just needs to get to know you a little bit. And if you got to know him, you'd see he's super nice too."

Shannon thought about that for a moment. She had to admit she doubted Peter would be good friends with someone who was a chronic jerk.

"I guess we've both probably been a little stubborn," she relented a little reluctantly. Peter nodded.

"Now, I want to hear about you and your life. I told you about me… but I don't know anything about you," Peter hoped he wasn't prying too much.

"Well Peter, I'll tell you what. Would you like to come over for lunch, and I'll tell you about myself. But I'm warning you—it's only tuna sandwiches."

"I love tuna! Sure, what time do you want me there?"

"Oh, how about around one?"

"Okay, I'll go back to the Pad and take a shower, and have a nap. We got home last night at two-thirty."

"Oh, that's right! You had a gig last night. And you're still up so early jogging?"

"Well, yeah. I got up because I wanted to go by your house at the regular time," Peter looked down at the sand he was running through his fingers, avoiding her eyes. She realized he was embarrassed, unsure.

"Then let's make it two. That way you can sleep a little longer."

"I'd be there anytime you wanted me to," Peter's eyes flicked away from hers again. This bashfulness of his affected her strongly. She wanted to hug him every time it surfaced.

They both got up, and Shannon gathered up her beach towel. "I can give you a ride home," he offered.

"No, thank you. It does me good to get out and walk. Bye, Peter. See you in a few hours!"

As they separated to go home, Shannon floundered mentally. She was jolted by her brazenness. Had she really just asked a guy she hardly knew to lunch at her house? What was she getting into? She was a grown woman, yet somehow this felt like her very first date. She shook her head in wonder. What to do with the flood of foreign emotions sweeping over her like an errant wave?


	6. Chapter 6

Shannon saw Peter approaching from her kitchen window as she was idly mixing the tuna salad, even though it was more than thoroughly blended. She'd been done with everything an hour ago, but she was trying to keep herself busy so she wouldn't think too much, something she was way too good at—overthinking.

He'd parked a bright red GTO on the street, and had a little less than a quarter mile walk to her house. The car had something like a logo on the side of it, but she couldn't read it at this distance, plus, of course, the street was lower in altitude than the treehouse. In any case, the car looked impressive. It wasn't modest by any means. A muscle car. Looked customized too. It certainly wasn't at all what she would have expected, such as a Volkswagon or something else economical. She had also noticed the growl of the engine… _sexy…power. _ The rumble could be felt even from where she stood in the kitchen. She wondered if it was Peter's car, or if he'd borrowed it from one of the other guys.

She saw him stop at the base of the treehouse and peer up.

"Come on up, Peter!" she called out of the kitchen window. He was up in a flash. Barely three seconds passed, and he was knocking politely at her door. She opened it and very nearly gave away her pleasure at the sight of him. As it was, she had to gulp back a squeal of delight. A black button down shirt, the top button left open, and golden hairs poking out at the V. She wondered if that had been intentional. She doubted it- Peter seemed to be oblivious of her fascination, and he wasn't the type to flaunt his virtues either. New jeans, boots that lots of boys of the day loved to wear. And his belt buckle was positioned off to the side. She hadn't noticed that before. It really had her curious, and that would be a good thing to bring up later on, if the conversation dragged, although, judging from their last meeting, that wasn't likely to happen. Once comfortable, Peter was a good talker.

She sat him down at the table and brought over a plate with two thick tuna sandwiches and some potato chips, sitting it down in front of him and then going back to the kitchen and returning with her plate that held only one sandwich.

"I made it with sweet pickle. Do you mind? I don't know if you like them."

"Far out! I love sweet pickles!" She brought over a pitcher of iced tea, sat down, and they began to eat. He looked so handsome, that blond hair sweeping below the collar of that black shirt, curling under just a bit. His attitude was a bit more serious than she'd ever seen it. She wondered why.

Peter had finished his sandwiches in less than five minutes, and sat there munching on the potato chips. He had very good table manners, although it was clear he was hungry. She wondered if any of them could cook anything.

"It's nice to be away from Davy," said Peter. "Well, um… I didn't mean it like that. He's the best friend in the world, but… I felt weird with him waiting for me outside."

"Yeah, me too," Shannon said wryly.

He leaned over to refill his glass with the pitcher of iced tea. Holy cow, he smelled good! "What's that you're wearing?" she inquired.

"Oh… it must be the Hai Karate aftershave. It's a new one on the market, and I thought I'd try it."

"Wow, I love it… it's so…_you_."

If Peter blushed any more, he'd turn permanently scarlet, she was thinking. She always seemed to make him blush, whether she tried to or not. The fragrance was definitely intoxicating her. But not any more than Peter himself.

"Um… we talked about me last time, but I still don't know much about you…" Peter's words trailed off. He was fumbling a bit for words—she could see that clearly.

She took on a casual air. "Oh, well. Not much to tell. I work part time as a checker at a grocery store," Shannon made sure she kept smiling, hoping to put him at ease. "I'm an only child, and my dad built the treehouse for me. Never been married, no kids, obviously. That's about it."

"What are your hobbies?" Peter had made a list when he'd gone home earlier, and memorized it. He hadn't even been able to take a nap. He was so amped up about his lunch date with her. He, at all costs, didn't want to appear boring to her.

"Reading, writing a little poetry, and I used to ride horses a lot. These days I'm not quite as active and outgoing as I used to be."

"Cool, I've gone riding with Davy a few times. He was a jockey in England, so he taught me how to ride. Why aren't you as outgoing as you used to be?"

Shannon knew it would come up sooner or later, but she had hoped not quite this soon. "Well…" might as well get it over with. "My mother died a few years ago, it hit me hard, and I became… kind of solitary."

"Oh… I'm so sorry." The look on his face was proof of his sincerity. There was also a profound change in his tone.

"Don't feel bad, Peter! I'm doing pretty well, actually. Well, most of the time. Now tell me about your group."

"The Monkees? Well, Mike writes our songs, and we don't do too bad. We're a rock 'n roll group, I think I told you that, and we do get judged a lot by older people, but the younger ones seem to like us a lot." His face was positively lit up, and even though he'd told her before that he loved music, in an instant, she knew music meant more to him than she'd guessed. It was clearly his great passion. It seemed to define him. He couldn't have hidden it if he'd tried.

Well, he had to get the conversation back on her—let her feel how interested he was in her.

"How did you and your dad come up with the idea of a treehouse for you?"

Shannon told him all about it from the beginning. Peter literally sat on the edge of his chair, engrossed in the story, hanging onto her every word.

"Wow," he exclaimed afterward. "Even a bathroom with a working toilet!" He embarrassed himself, so he changed the topic promptly, and Shannon smiled.

"So you kind of live an enchanted life," he said reverently.

"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far, but I sure do enjoy living here. Tell me how you formed your singing group."

She was determined to get him to talk about himself, and all he wanted was to hear more about her. But he obliged.

"We were acquaintances, friends of friends, sorta, before we became a group. We'd play individually with various garage band groups… and one day the four of us were messing around, and happened to jam together, and we just clicked, and we've been a group ever since. With a _hell _of a lot of practice," he smiled, and she sensed how hard working he must be, and how much dedication it must have taken for them to actually now be in demand for gigs. She admired that kind of spunk and ambition.

After they were done eating, they moved to the couch, and once again Shannon acted out of character by sitting next to Peter. As they continued to talk, she felt an odd sense of euphoria. Just being this near Peter made her, well, _happy._

"So what color are your eyes? Blue or green?" he asked. "Outside they looked green, but in here, they look blue."

"My Driver's License says blue, but they aren't really, not truly. And, speaking of eyes, yours change like a chameleon. Kind of like my father's eyes, only yours are hazel, and his are technically what they call grey, but really, he has flecks of different colors in them."

"Do you get along with your father?"

"Oh my goodness, I love my Daddy. I'm completely devoted to him—we're very close."

There Peter had gone again! Getting her to talk about herself when she wanted more than anything to discover what made him tick.

"And your hobbies—what are they?" she asked before he could sneak in another question.

"I read a lot, like you, and the guys and I go to the park sometimes and play baseball or soccer. We go bowling and play tennis sometimes too. And of course, swimming. Davy's the best at every sport we've done. When we went ice skating, he was skating circles around the rest of us, who were falling on our butts every five minutes." Peter laughed. "Mike said he'd never go ice skating again, and he kept that promise. He could hardly move for a few days, he was so sore."

Shannon was enjoying each moment more. She wondered how Peter had gotten such a fresh outlook on the world. It seemed to come to him naturally.

"Tell me five positive things about each of you guys in the group, and then five negative things," she said. _This oughta keep him busy for a while_. She grinned like the Cheshire cat.

Peter made a funny face. "Can it just be three things?"

"No. Five. Five positives and five negatives for each Monkee."

"Why? I don't like negatives." That much was pretty apparent, she thought to herself.

"I'll learn more about both you, and the others. And I want to learn."

"Okay… well, who do I start with?"

Shannon threw him a wily grin. "Davy," she said roguishly.

"Oh boy. Okay, um… first positive would be… he's a loyal friend. Second, he's really funny. Third, he's very generous, fourth, he's understanding, and fifth, he's very good looking." He'd rattled them off with barely a pause in between. She was starting to think she had Davy all wrong. She hadn't seen any of it, except, of course, the last trait.

Peter had already told her Davy was a loyal friend, so she guessed she'd have to reluctantly take his word on that, but funny? Hardly. Not in her experience. Generous? She couldn't imagine that. Understanding? That was the most laughable of all. Sounded as if Peter were describing a different person altogether. Okay, so she didn't know Davy well, and they'd had a bad start. _And_ she'd been mean to him first. She'd been testy, and so had he in return. The last one was humorous though. That one was so obvious to the whole world that she was tickled that Peter would even mention it. Also, an interesting thing about it was that, in her experience, the average guy seldom admitted he thought another guy was good looking. But Peter was anything but average.

"Why are you laughing?" Peter looked puzzled.

"Well, all the things you mentioned just seemed wrong, right from my first encounter with Davy. But the last one just hit my funny bone. I mean, it's just so…so _evident!"_

"Yeah, every girl thinks that," Peter looked a little down all of a sudden.

"Come on, he may be cute, but it's what's inside that counts," Shannon tried to soothe Peter, who stiffened in defense of his friend. He'd obviously had some bad experiences with Davy's handsomeness, but wasn't about to deny his fierce allegiance to his friend. She supposed the girls all automatically went for Davy just based on his looks.

"But he's good inside too! You just can't see that!" Peter was getting upset, so Shannon distracted him as quickly as she could.

"Okay, the negatives now."

"I know… it's just that I don't like putting anyone down. Especially not my best friend."

"Just try."

"Well, let's see…" It took Peter much, much longer to come up with negatives than it had for positives. Shannon felt real admiration for Peter. It_ did_ really pain him to put anyone down. She was about to tell Peter they could drop the game when Peter spoke up.

"I'd have to say, number one would be his quick temper when he's crossed." Peter uttered this with a direct glare at Shannon. Well, not so much a glare as a pointed look. Peter wasn't good at glaring.

"Number two would be…. Man this is hard… um… he gets moody every once in a while. Number three would be… oh hell, I can think of so many more positives than negatives!"

"Okay then, just do a few more positives."

Peter's face brightened. "He's strong, he loves animals and kids, he's a hard worker, he's determined and never gives up, he's very clean, he's a good dancer, he's a really sharp dresser…"

"Okay, okay, enough. I get the feeling you could go on all day," Shannon smiled at Peter to let him know she wasn't really disturbed, but, rather, admiring of his devotion.

"Now, positives for another one. Whoops! What are their names?" Shannon was embarrassed that she didn't know. But how much can you find out in the small amount of time she'd spent with Peter, anyway?

"Michael. Number one, Michael is extremely intelligent, number two, he's more or less the group leader, and is a good one; number three, he's gentle and not at all the way he seems to be, number four, he's a great singer, number five, I think he's gonna be an inventor or pioneer of something because he has outasite ideas."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive. But about number three; you said he's gentle and not the way he seems to be? What does that mean?"

"Michael intimidates a lot of people because he's a bit hard nosed, gruff, and really dry. Sarcastic too. And he doesn't smile much. But he's a kitten inside. I have his number." Peter looked peacock proud of himself.

"Sounds like a tough character, at least on the outside," Shannon wasn't so sure she'd ever want to meet such a character.

"He's really not. I'm not saying he's not able to take care of himself, because he is, fully. He's not afraid of much. But he's a pussy cat underneath, and he _does_ have a heart, although only people he really cares about know it."

Shannon nodded, impressed yet again. Peter was good at analyzing people, and although she would have thought a guy like Michael would chafe on Peter's sensitive nature, that didn't seem to be the case at all.

"Now Micky…" Peter was eager for the game, now that all the negatives had been wiped away. Shannon liked that.

"Micky's positives are, number one, he's funnier than hell, number two, he talks a lot so there are never any discomforting moments when someone visits, number three is, he has more energy than the other three of us, although Davy has more stamina. Number four is, you rarely see him in a bad mood, and number five is, he can sing well, but he can also scat!"

"Scat?" Shannon hadn't heard that term before and had no idea what it pertained to.

"It's kind of improvising, singing really fast in nonsense syllables—sometimes with no words at all. It's not an easy thing to do, and none of the rest of us can do it."

Well, she'd just learned a whole lot about Peter just from hearing him describe his band mates. And she really approved of what she'd heard. Peter was kind, and ferreted out all the good he could find.

"I enjoyed that, Peter. But now, let's you and me do it. You name five positives about yourself, and I'll do the same about myself. How's that?"

Peter cocked his head, contemplating this next challenge, and looking so adorable that she had to physically restrain herself from wrapping her arms around him by picking up and sipping her iced tea. He did the same, mimicking her motions as though he wasn't quite sure what else to do, and that seemed the safest choice.

"I'll go first," said Shannon while carefully observing Peter for signs of nervousness. "I'll start with positives." She was now realizing quickly that it wasn't so easy. "Number one, I'm loyal to my friends… number two, I do have a good sense of humor… number three, I think I'm fairly intelligent, number four…" she was running out of positives quickly. "I love animals, and number five… I'm pretty self sufficient."

There—she'd done it. "I'm sorry I 'copied' some of your answers, but I was being as honest as I could."

Peter looked apprehensive. "I love your answers, and I'll remember them all—you can even test me later on, but I'm not too keen on answering them myself."

"Why not, Peter?" she asked gently.

"I'm not sure. But if you want me to, I'll do it.

"If you don't feel comfortable, I'll understand."

"No," he said with resolve. "I'll do it." His lower jaw jutted out just a little, and Shannon had to fight off the urge lean over and kiss it.

"I'll have to copy a few too, but I'll be honest. Positives. Number one, I'm loyal. Once your friend, always your friend, if you'll have me. Number two… I love animals and kids, number three, I love to laugh, even though I'm not as funny as Micky. Number four… I'm not picky when it comes to food. And… number five, I believe in love."

That last one hit Shannon in the gut and heart simultaneously. She was floored. _Was this a dream man, or what?_

"You're a romantic, like me!" she said in wonder, not even quite realizing she'd said it aloud.

There went another blush from Peter. "Yeah, sometimes Mike says I have my head in the clouds, because I'm such a dreamer," he admitted.

"I've also been accused of being a dreamer!" Shannon was still in awe, and a bit of stunned silence settled in.

To ease his embarrassment, she brought up the subject she'd thought of earlier.

"Why is your belt buckle off to the side?"

"My guitar. Belt buckles can scratch."

Shannon nodded. "Okay, so that mystery's solved. It's kind of sexy, though." There she went again, embarrassing not only him, but herself too!

Sometime later, after lots of eager and enjoyable conversation, Peter was very disinclined to look at his watch, but he knew he had to. He didn't want to stick around too long, and cause her to grow weary of him. It was better to force himself to depart now than to have her be less than eager to see him again.

He was astonished to see that it was five o'clock! They'd been talking for three hours! The dressing down he gave himself inwardly for staying so long would have dismayed Shannon, had she known. She was relishing every moment they spent together.

"I really should be going," Peter hated saying the words. If only he'd known about the instant let-down Shannon felt upon hearing them.

"Here, I'll write down my phone number, if you have a pen and paper."

Shannon jumped up and retrieved a notepad and a pen. She tore off a page for him, and wrote her number on another page, tearing it off as well and handing it to him. When he gave her his paper, their fingers touched briefly. Shannon could almost swear that a spark was launched into the air in that instant.

All of a sudden Peter looked as if he might keel over. He looked weak and pale. "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning… when we run…"

Something inside her wilted, but she told herself it was because she'd only see him briefly tomorrow, and that wasn't enough. She enjoyed his company. She didn't allow herself to think about anything else. She could tell from his expression that he didn't want to leave. But it was best this way—just seeing him on his morning run. She didn't want to get involved with anyone romantically just now anyway. _If that thought had even crossed his mind._ He was so polite and respectful that she hadn't the slightest idea what he was really thinking. He was so different than anyone she'd met before. That was one of his charms. And she had to take into account that she'd never want to risk this new, budding friendship by getting other ideas.

Peter beat a hasty retreat. He had to—otherwise he knew he wouldn't be able to make himself get out of there. He wanted to just stay there forever, talking to her in her cozy treehouse, just the two of them.

After he was gone, she looked at the paper, still in her hand, studying the scrawl, and tracing it with her finger. Simply his first name, followed by the phone number. People were lost too easily, and that hurt enormously. She couldn't afford to invest herself emotionally…


	7. Chapter 7

As Peter climbed into the Monkeemobile and drove home, he reflected on how he could have just walked to her house, since it was only half a mile. But he'd wanted to impress her… She hadn't mentioned the car, but then again, they were talking constantly, laughing and having a good time, and it just hadn't come up. Besides, she probably couldn't have gotten a very good view of it out of her kitchen window. He'd seen her looking down at him though, from that very window, and it made him feel good—almost like she was waiting for him.

He didn't want her getting the wrong idea about him though. He didn't want her thinking he was only out for one thing. He just didn't have it in him to use anyone—especially a female. And he wanted to get that message across by being as well behaved and deferential as possible. He just didn't _do_ one-night stands. It wasn't in his makeup. He hoped she didn't think he was being too forward by giving her his phone number. But… she'd given him hers too, so he supposed it was alright. In any case, he felt the visit had gone well. He wished he'd had the nerve to ask her out to a movie, but just thinking about it had made him weak in the knees as he was getting ready to leave. So he'd decided it was too soon for anything like that.

Shannon's dad called a little while after Peter had left, wondering when would be a good day to bring her some gasoline for her generator. She told him what days she was off, and they agreed on Friday.

The next day, when Davy jogged by, he nodded his greeting to Shannon. She grudgingly nodded back. That guy was so handsome that even when he wasn't smiling, he was breathtaking. She'd downplayed her consciousness of Davy's attractiveness to Peter, as it seemed to her that Peter felt he was cast in Davy's shadow. He didn't have to say it out loud, but she'd known it when he'd commented about the girls always noticing Davy. Little did Peter know that she wouldn't have traded his company for any other guy, no matter how handsome. She felt safe with Peter, in the best sense of the word. His easy, mellow demeanor and lively conversation didn't put any pressure on her. He didn't have any hidden meanings in his conversation, no hidden agendas, nor sarcasm. With other guys she'd always gotten the impression that they were just waiting to pounce—watching for some kind of signal or opening that would grant them access to her. Peter made her feel like a _person,_ an intelligent one at that, instead of just another woman to conquer. He listened to her, showed interest in her views, made her feel important.

She snapped out of her daydream when she saw Peter approaching out of the corner of her eye. She'd taken extra pains today to appear as attractive as she could. She wore a sun dress that was mid-thigh length, in bright colors of yellow, orange and light blue. She wore daffodil yellow sandals and even a heart shaped pendant on a light chain around her neck. Her hair was pulled back in the front and sides and secured with a colorful barrette, the rest of it left flowing. For once, it was behaving. There was a bit of natural curl in it today due to the ocean breeze's humidity, so it rested just below her shoulders in soft, bouncy curls. She'd curled her eyelashes, used a little more mascara than usual, and she wore rosy rouge on her cheeks and peach lip gloss.

Peter felt his breath catch as soon as he caught sight of her. His heart banged against his chest walls. She looked so lovely today. She reminded him a bit of a sunflower, he thought, smiling to himself. His heart raced ever faster in a forerunner of their greeting. He suddenly felt shy, and didn't know how to act, what to say, even though they'd conversed comfortably for three hours just yesterday.

"Good morning, Peter!" she called out, smiling openly.

"Good morning Shannon!" he returned. There, that wasn't so bad.

"Are you thirsty?" she had made sure not to bring a drink outside with her, as it was an excellent excuse to get him into the house. She told herself it was because she was lonely—had no one to talk to. But in the same breath, she knew she was at ease with her aloneness. It was only Peter that she wanted to share that with.

"Yeah, a little. Davy has water though," he realized his error immediately. "But he's gone on ahead," he finished lamely, forcing himself to breathe more heavily than was necessary so she'd take pity on him and ask him in for a drink.

"You can have a drink out of the hose," Shannon reached to turn on the spigot and walked toward him, holding the end of the hose. He started to take it from her when she shook with laughter.

"I'm just kidding! I have some iced tea or beer that is much colder than this," and she dropped the hose abruptly with distaste creasing her pretty face for an instant. "Nasty 'ole hose water," she mumbled under her breath, making Peter smile with relief.

"Come on, before Davy notices you've stopped here," she grabbed his wrist, surprising herself as much as him.

"Oh, Davy won't be back for me," Peter blurted out as they neared the ladder. _Shit!_ He kept sticking his foot in his mouth! It was too late—he'd said too much, and there was nothing he could do to retract it now. He felt like putting permanent tape over his mouth.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Um… I…. well… I told him that if I stop to talk, he doesn't have to hang around." There. That hadn't sounded so bad._ At least I didn't say what I was thinking—that I was hoping she'd ask me in again. _

Her plan had worked. She was discovering that joking around with him, teasing a bit was doing the trick. Peter was letting down, and today he relaxed a lot sooner than he had yesterday.

"I thought you were serious about the hose!" he said, and they laughed in tandem.

"Just giving you a hard time."

Peter had indeed had a talk with Davy. But it had been a little more in depth than what he'd told Shannon. Davy had been teasing him unrelentingly about Shannon, and Peter had finally taken a stand, admitting that he did, indeed, like her, and that Davy wasn't his babysitter. He'd been kind, yet firm. Davy had shown compassion for Peter, and even offered to run another route so Peter could see her alone, but Peter had insisted Davy could continue to run the route by Shannon's property because he knew how intrigued Davy was with the treehouse. Peter also knew that Davy's curiosity would not be satiated until he'd seen the inside of it. So Peter was hoping that, sometime soon, Shannon would invite him in as well. Then Davy could go his own way as far as jogging went, and Peter could continue to be assured of having an excuse to see Shannon as often as he possibly could.

Another hour today of talk about a variety of subjects, Geisha in Peter's lap as he rehashed some of the Monkees' funnier adventures. He was growing more confident by the minute, and Shannon felt a thrill as she saw his true personality emerge, bit by bit. He was arrestingly charming—just a little rough around the edges. If he were to try to talk with a very shy woman, the whole interchange would be over in two seconds. He tended to tiptoe around women, Shannon could see that clearly. As if they might bite him. But he was definitely beginning to respond to her, and the more she saw of him, the more she talked to him, the more she liked him. All he needed was reassurance and encouragement, and he absolutely shone. When they said goodbye, it was even tougher than the day before, because she had to work for the next two days. He couldn't stay longer, however, as he had to be back shortly for practice.

"Damn these morning hard-ons!" Snarled Davy as he got out of bed the following morning. His jockey shorts were tented in front, and Davy slapped mildly at the bulge.

"Don't slap it _too_ hard. You might need it sometime soon… real soon…" said Peter, thinking about how often Davy scored.

He wouldn't be seeing Shannon for the next two days because she was working, but he had her phone number. He could call her tonight when she got home from work. But no… he'd never be able to do that unless he was drunk or something. He'd be afraid that, instead of being happy to hear from him, she might say, "Peter who?"

"I really do want you two to be friends. I'd like to someday invite her over to the Pad," said Peter to Davy on the way to practice. Micky and Mike listened in silence. They'd heard bits and pieces of the drama about the girl in the treehouse, and more or less knew most of the story, and frankly, they couldn't wait for her to come over, so they could check her out. Peter had never really had a girlfriend. They knew he'd had sex, and there was something about an older woman "breaking him in," but he basically just didn't know how to act around the female sex. He let opportunities pass him by because of his shy nature. They were anxious to see what the treehouse woman looked like. They hadn't been able to find out from Davy, as he loathed her and didn't want to discuss her long enough to even describe her.

"We nodded our greetings to each other yesterday," said Davy.

Mike spoke up. "David, if Peter is interested in her, you should at least be civil to her."

Davy knew he was right, but that woman just left a bad taste in his mouth. She'd been so fierce, and he couldn't put it out of his mind that easily.

"She won't ever want to come over to the Pad if she knows you don't like her," this time it was Micky.

They were right. Davy wasn't being fair to Peter. He needed to step up and be a man about this.

"What grocery store did you say she worked at?" he asked Peter. Peter told him.

"Why do you want to know?" asked Peter.

"Never mind. I'm turning something over in my mind," was Davy's vague answer.

That afternoon of the very same day, soon before Shannon was to go on break, she was thinking about Peter again, and trying to concentrate on the small talk some customers like to engage in when she checked them out. Idle talk about the weather, new products, or what was on the news. She glanced at the end of her line, judging when she should put up her "closed" sign to go on break. She'd do it after that last one currently in line. Then she saw a pair of dark eyes piercing right into her own eyes. _It couldn't be!_ But it was. The most handsome face in the world belonged to those dark eyes that were boring into her soul. _Davy_. He might be short, but_ m_y _God,_ he looked intimidating.

What in the hell was he doing here? She worked 15 miles from where she lived. Almost everyone she knew shopped closer to home than that—unless they lived in the boonies. She handed the "closed" sign to the nearest customer to hand back to Davy so he could put it behind his purchases. Well, he had her now. If he was going to lay into her, he'd have fifteen minutes to do it, as that's how long her break was. Wonderful… just wonderful.

She maintained a professional, yet friendly air, as she did with all her customers, when he finally made it to the front of the check stand.

"Good afternoon, Shannon," he said, and his charisma instantly tore through her. It was no wonder girls couldn't keep their paws off him! Looking into those dark eyes made a girl wonder what he was thinking. But those stunning eyes weren't revealing a thing.

"Hi Davy," she said cheerily, as if she saw him at work every day. He had bought milk and bread. This was even weirder. Why would he drive twenty minutes away from the Pad for milk and bread?

"I… I want to talk to you. I think, for Peter's sake, that we should let by-gones be by-gones." His voice shook just the slightest bit, but she picked up on it. Davy? Nervous? Sure seemed that way. Why else would his voice tremble? If he had gone to this trouble for Peter, then he _must _be the caring friend Peter claimed him to be. She was taken aback.

"I agree," she said, somewhat stiffly. "Peter thinks the world of you, and if he's to be my friend, then you and I… need to be accommodating to each other."

"More than that—we need to be friendly. I'm a bit of a cocky son-of-a- son," he caught himself just in time before saying "bitch." "And I'm sorry about that. Let's be friends if for no other reason than Peter wants us to be."

Well….this was perplexing. Was he being difficult, or was he on the up-and-up? She decided he was for real, because why else would he drive all the way over here? For kicks? She doubted it.

"Alright. You came over here just to say that?" she couldn't resist asking. He nodded.

"You have a deal then. Friends…" she held her hand out, and he shook it. "Friends," he repeated. And he picked up his bag and walked out.

"Who was that gorgeous short guy you checked out and shook hands with?" Gretchen was at her side, breathless, almost as soon as Davy had left the store. It was time… time to tell Gretchen all. So Gretchen and Shannon sat down on break, and by the time fifteen minutes was up, Gretchen was completely updated about Peter, Davy and the Monkees. Shannon even told Gretchen how much Peter turned her on.

"Oh, this is completely engrossing!" exclaimed Gretchen. "That Davy is just dreamy too!" Oh boy. If Shannon were to become good friends with Peter, and then the other Monkees too, Gretchen was going to want to see Davy again. If nothing else, then just to look at him. Shannon knew the feeling, as she felt just that way about Peter. Shannon could almost see the future, and she was deathly afraid that Davy, being the playboy type, would use Gretchen, and under no circumstances was Shannon going to stand by and let that happen.

Peter laid on his bed that night, thinking back to a time when he was only sixteen. Most of his friends had already had girlfriends, and at least a few casual sexual encounters with girls. Not Peter. He was clumsy, shy and a blubbering idiot when he got within a half mile of them. They were curious creatures. Moody, giggled a lot, always worried about what people thought, gossiped, and most of all, didn't give clear signals. The only thing he seemed to have in common with them was their sentimental nature. He hadn't a clue how to behave around them, or get them to notice him. And when they were vague or nonspecific, he didn't pick up on their hints, so they'd move on to someone else. His friends tried to help, but his shyness severely hindered him, so he was often left behind when the other guys were hanging out with cute girls and getting their phone numbers, then managing to get dates with them. That's when Lena came along.

She was a single woman who had recently moved into a house down the street from his parents' house in Connecticut. She was twenty seven. At the time, she seemed so terribly mature and sophisticated, but of course it seemed that way—to a sixteen year old boy. Lena had noticed Peter around, hanging out with his friends, but she'd never seen him with a girl. If he were to walk past her house, and she would greet him, he'd blush. Lena knew instinctively that Peter needed quite a shove in the direction of love and romance. So, after knowing him for about a year or more, she had decided to make her move.

One hot summer day when he'd walked by her house on the way to his friend's house, she had beckoned him onto her porch. She was quiet, soft-spoken, and very attractive. Peter was in awe of her. He couldn't imagine why she'd want to talk to _him_, a sixteen year old boy.

But he soon found out. She enticed him into the house with some home baked cookies, then set about relieving his tension with small talk. As the afternoon faded to evening, she led him from the living room into her bedroom. He'd looked around, wondering what it was she wanted to show him, seeing nothing but girlie things. That was when she seduced him.

He remembered it as if it were yesterday. She was all soft, silky woman, and she dimmed the lights as she undressed the both of them. Peter was in a state of shock, but that was fine, because she showed him the way. She explained that she'd seen how shy he was, and that he didn't have a girlfriend. She said she'd like very much to help him in that department. So she taught him how to make love. It was a very gentle, endearing way for a young man to be introduced to girls and sex. He was grateful for it then and now, because she had shown him how to satisfy a woman. She was never overly aggressive or scary about it. She just simply showed him what to do, and he obeyed… and experienced extreme pleasure along the way.

Lena explained it would only be for one night. Well, Peter made the best of that one night. He made love to her nearly all night long. He'd never known such a sensual world existed. She was true to her word, and didn't come on to him ever again. She would greet him if their paths met, but that was where it ended.

It had been beautiful, and it opened a delightful pathway for Peter's journey to manhood… but with one small, well… actually one_ big_ problem attached to it. He knew how to make love, but was left without the basics. He still didn't know how to approach a girl, woo her, or even call her attention to him. What to say, how to conduct himself, how the relationship should progress. So Lena had led him to intimacy, but hadn't told him how to _get_ there…he smiled now, her light, flowery scent distinct in his nostrils after all these years, as if she were actually in the room with him. If only he could ask her about Shannon, and where to go from here…


	8. Chapter 8

Shannon was really not terribly surprised when she didn't hear from Peter during the two days that they didn't see each other. Still, she kept her ears pealed for the phone after she got home from work. However, it remained silent. The only call she got was her father, confirming that he'd be over with the gasoline for her generator in the morning. He called Thursday night, and she'd run for the phone, stubbing her toe, thinking it might be Peter. Even though she was disappointed Peter hadn't called, she was never unhappy to hear her father's voice.

When Phil Masters showed up at his daughter's house, he was a little earlier than she expected. In fact, it was right around 8:15 in the morning. He'd just said he'd be there sometime in the morning, so she assumed it would be closer to ten, and hadn't given it a second thought in regards to Peter's morning run.

"Hi honey," he said as he came in through the rear door that she had opened to his knock. That was strange—she would have expected him to come in the front door, as that was nearest to the street. He made sure the door was closed, then said, "There's a long haired weirdo near your property line out there," he pointed to the door. Presumably, he'd shut it first so the person wouldn't see him pointing.

Shannon knew who it was right away, of course, and choked back a snicker at the "long haired weirdo" remark. Her dad was ever the conservative, and sometimes he just couldn't keep his mouth shut, although he was always dignified about it.

Shannon looked out the window to be sure, and said, "Daddy, it's okay. That's Peter, my friend."

"Your friend? The kid with the long hair?"

"Yes, it's a long story, and I'll tell you all about it sometime, but he comes by this time most mornings, jogging, and I need to let him know I have company."

She left her dad standing there, in the living room, a bit unbalanced, as he hadn't even known she was dating, much less a long haired weirdo.

Shannon opened the door and stood at the top of the steps, gesturing Peter to approach. When Peter got there, she told him her father was there, and asked if he'd like to meet him. Peter gulped and felt an instant, cold sweat form all over his body. _Her father?_

Every guy has some degree of angst at the thought of meeting a girl's parents, but Peter hadn't even had the chance to prepare himself. It was just thrown at his feet. He couldn't refuse though, as he'd have to explain that he was just too bashful, and that meant Shannon's dad would hear him. You had to raise your voice a bit from the bottom of the steps. Would that ever be humiliating! Also, he hadn't seen Shannon in two days, and if this is what it took—the agony of meeting her father, then that's just what he'd have to face.

As he walked in, hyper aware of his sweatiness, Peter pasted on a huge smile.

"Daddy, this is Peter, Peter, this is Phil Masters, my father," said Shannon. She watched her dad's face carefully, but as expected, he presented a neutral expression, and shook Peter's hand graciously. The man was a master at appearing impartial, no matter the circumstances.

The two stood face to face, exactly the same height.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Peter wanted more than anything he could think of to give a good first impression. Phil Masters' ears seem to visibly perk up—he was disconcerted. He hadn't expected such politeness, such respect from this slightly shaggy kid. He decided that, with a good haircut, the boy might be halfway presentable.

"Nice to meet you too, Peter," responded Phil, always the diplomat.

"I'm sorry I'm… messy, but I was jogging." Peter felt it was better to say _messy_ than _sweaty._

"That's alright—I understand," said Phil.

"Please sit down," Shannon indicated the couch and offered them both iced tea.

"I can't stay long, honey. I brought over your gasoline," Phil directed this to his daughter. Then he turned his head toward Peter. "So what do you do, Peter?" he asked politely.

"I'm in a band. Rock 'n roll." Peter had the feeling he should have left out the rock 'n roll part.

"Hmm, I see." It was clear Phil didn't know precisely what to say to that, and Shannon figured it was par for the course in her father's mind. A long haired weirdo being in a rock 'n roll band.

"Doing pretty well?" asked Phil.

"Yes, actually we are getting quite a few gigs these days," Peter was so tense and ramrod stiff in the neck that Shannon thought it might break in half if anyone so much as touched it, and his head would fall off and bounce across the floor. She had to concentrate hard on not giggling at the thought. She realized this inward silliness just attested to the tension she was feeling, like the men. She had to give credit to her dad and Peter though. Both were handling it about as well as she could have hoped for.

"Well," Shannon's dad took another sip from his iced tea. "I'd better be getting that gasoline into your generator before I go."

Peter jumped right to his feet. "Need some help?" he asked. Shannon's heart swelled.

"Sure… yeah, that would be nice," said Phil. So the three of them headed down the steps, and her dad and Peter easily hefted the huge tank out of the back of Phil's pick-up and got the job done quickly as Shannon looked on. Peter was more fit in just the few weeks she'd known him. Probably from the running, she mused. But there was more than that—she suspected he might be lifting barbells too, because his arms looked firmer and there was more definition than had been there before. It was evident because his shirt today was short sleeved. A few more months, and his arms might well be as toned and muscled as Davy's.

"Thank you, Peter," said Phil. "You made that a lot easier."

"Oh, no problem… no problem at all," Peter looked ready to blush.

"Shannon we're going to have to get someone to deliver your gas and oil from now on. Peter helped this time, but I'm getting a little too old to be lifting one hundred pound barrels."

"Oh, Daddy, I understand. And you're not old! One hundred pounds is a lot for _anyone _to lift!" Peter, standing at her side, eagerly nodded his agreement.

"I'll have them deliver it every two weeks, as you still had enough left just now to last you at least ten more days. Let me show you how to check the levels," Her dad showed her where the gasoline and oil went, and how to read the gauges. Peter watched carefully too.

"If she doesn't remember, I will," said Peter.

"Yes, he can help me check it when he visits," said Shannon quickly, afraid her dad might think Peter spent a lot of time with her at home. God forbid he thought they were sleeping together.

Phil left soon after that, leaving Shannon and Peter alone.

"You dad is groovy!" Peter was ecstatic, and had a hard time keeping it to himself. He felt he'd made a fairly favorable impression.

"He liked you too, I could tell. Even if you_ do_ have long hair," she teased. She decided to leave the "weirdo" part out.

"Yeah, I was worried about that, but I didn't do too bad, with no notice… about meeting him, that is, did I?"' Peter was seeking approval. Shannon's heart contracted and fluttered with fondness.

"You did great. That's the best reception any guy I've ever dated has gotten from him." She was startled by her own words. That had come out all wrong. She should have just said "any guy I've introduced him to." Peter seemed perfectly satisfied with it though, and unalarmed, so she let it go.

"I'm sweaty, and it was kind of embarrassing," Peter looked concerned.

"Peter, everyone sweats when they run. My dad realizes that—he's human too, you know," she poked Peter in the ribs with a finger, then realized that was only the second time she'd ever touched him. The first time had been when their fingertips had brushed against each other, just the other day. No, the third. She'd also grabbed his wrist once to pull him toward the treehouse. Still, it seemed far too little.

Peter pretended to collapse inward in an effort to get away from her poking finger, like someone does when being tickled, but he'd enjoyed the strange tingling it had caused more than she would ever know.

"David told me about going to your workplace," Peter said, all smiles.

Shannon paused, then realized "David" was "Davy." "Yes! It was quite the surprise, let me tell you!"

"I bet it was. Like I told you, he's a good guy."

"Yes, I realized I'd been too quick to judge him," Shannon faltered, not sure how to explain her feelings to Peter. "I really started it all by yelling at him, and not giving him a chance to explain. A box girl who works with me—a friend of mine, ran up to me after he left, demanding to know who he was," she laughed.

"Yeah, well, that's routine where Davy's concerned."

Shannon took a deep breath and said what was on her mind. "Personally, I'd rather spend time with you though."

Peter became beet red. "I really like spending time with you too."

They were still standing in the kitchen, neither knowing what to say next. "Let's sit down again, and I have an idea. Why don't we list five negatives about ourselves?" Shannon had had so much time in the last two days, in the evenings, to think of interesting subject matter to bring up to Peter, that she was eager to begin.

They both went for the living room, and reached the doorway with the beads hanging floor to ceiling at the same time. There wasn't enough room for them both to go through it straight on, and they discovered it too late. Peter had already committed to going through, so was already halfway through the doorway. He would have felt awkward about backing off, but he discovered his mistake in continuing on when Shannon also barged through the doorway, thinking about their word play game and not paying attention.

Sideways they slithered, and every part of their bodies came into contact. Shannon gasped, not being able to squelch it. Chest to crotch, they squeezed and pressed by each other, and it left them both feeble for a few seconds. _Holy Mother of God_! That had been some intense contact! Peter made a funny sound that Shannon didn't recognize. It wasn't a burp, but sounded almost as if he were straining in his throat. Almost like clearing his throat, but not quite.

"Wow," she said to break the silence. "My dad must have made that doorway narrow."

"Aren't most doorways about two and a half feet wide? I think this one is closer to two feet," commented Peter in a voice that was a little on the hoarse side. _He was shook up,_ she thought. At least she wasn't the only one. "He must have made it with just skinny you in mind," he added, grinning, and turning his head slightly away in unconscious avoidance. If they were lovers, it would have been funny, but the way things were, it felt a bit inelegant and almost indecent.

Then they looked at each other at the same moment and burst into laughter. All was understood. Nothing more needed to be said.

After sitting down, Shannon assured Peter she hadn't thought of what her answers would be beforehand, so they'd be on equal footing.

"Since I suggested it, I'll go first. Okay, number one negative for me would be… I get my feelings hurt easily. Number two… I have a quick temper, although only in extreme situations such as what happened with Davy. Number three…boy, this is not easy… I'm too picky about my bedcovers. Number four…I'm sometimes too compassionate. And number five…I don't always eat right."

Peter looked pensive. Can I ask you a couple of questions before I list mine?"

"Sure."

"Okay, well, what do you mean you're too picky about your bedcovers?"

"Oh, well they have to be perfectly straight, even on both sides, with the bottom sheet tightly fitting, and the top sheet folding over about, oh… eight inches over the top blanket. Otherwise it bugs me until I fix it."

"Fair enough. The other question is, how are you sometimes too compassionate?"

"Oh, I feel others' pain as if it were my own. I guess empathetic would have been a better word. I do it with animals too," she thought of the cats that had been appearing in increasing numbers, climbing up the tree and wanting to come into the treehouse.

"Alright. I can relate to that. So my negatives are, number one… I'm too sensitive and emotional. Number two, I'm too shy. Number three… I'm not good at hiding my feelings. Number four… I sometimes leave the cap off the toothpaste. And number five… let's see… sometimes I can be pretty clumsy."

"Very good! I think the toothpaste one is cute, but number one, about being too sensitive and emotional… well, I don't see where that's necessarily a negative."

"But it is—a man isn't supposed to show his feelings as much as women do."

"That's where you're wrong, Peter. I wish more men _would_ show their feelings. I think it's a good thing. Even when a man cries."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Peter smiled. That's when she knew he was the type who would cry easily during a sad movie, and that really appealed to her. He was honest with his emotions.

"By the way, when you came over the other day, you were driving a red car. I think it was a GTO. I couldn't see much, but from what I could see, it looked really cool. Is it yours?"

"Thanks, I'm glad you dig it. It's a fourth mine," he chuckled. The other three and myself went in on it. That and our instruments are our most treasured possessions."

"It has something written on the side, what is it?"

"The Monkees."

"I should have figured that one out! I'm going to have to see it up close sometime."

"Oh, I'll bring it over anytime you want," Peter's eyes were bright. That's what she'd wanted to hear—that he had plans to keep coming over in the future. That this wasn't just a few visits, and then goodbye.

"You've never given me a tour of your house," Peter said bashfully.

"Oh! I'm sorry. There's not that much to see, really. You've seen most of it—but come with me. He followed her to the bathroom, his eyes widening at the huge glass window by the bathtub. "Far out!" was his comment. Then to her bed.

"This is it—what you see is what you get. The bathroom and bed, and you've seen everything else."

"I saw this from over there," he pointed to the area of the living room where the couch was. "But I didn't know what it was," he said as he looked at the steps leading up to the loft bed. "I see you have your sheets and blankets just how you want them," he said as he peeled down the bedspread a little to reveal underneath. She never would have thought he'd have the fortitude to do something like that, but she certainly wasn't going to discourage him.

She laughed. "Yep, just like I told you! I wish I was a perfectionist with everything else, like I am with the bed."

"Nah…" he dismissed her statement with a wave of his hand. "You wouldn't have time to have any fun if you were constantly being a perfectionist." _He had quite a point there._ She realized there was a whole lot of Peter she hadn't even met yet, and she was liking what she saw more all the time. He wasn't dense by any means, and he showed true, genuine interest in herself and her life.

"I'm going to have to ask your dad some things about how he built your treehouse," he said. "I'm curious." _There he went again… referring to the future in a roundabout way._ Even though she didn't feel she wanted to date anyone, at least she knew there was a possibility of a long-time friend in Peter. She needed friends—all she really had was Gretchen.

"I was also wondering…how… you might feel about," Peter paused, as if searching for words. "Now that you and Davy are friends, I was wondering if maybe… he could come see the inside of your house sometime. He's intrigued with it, and has been since the beginning. It's why he keeps running by your house instead of going different routes like he used to."

Shannon was shocked speechless. It was one thing to shake hands with Davy, and agree to get along for Peter's sake, but actually being his _friend,_ and allowing him to come into her home was a different story altogether…

But… if she didn't agree to have Davy come over, Davy might decide to change his route, and that meant Peter might go along with him and not jog by her house anymore either. And there was yet another way to look at it. Seeing inside the treehouse would satisfy Davy's curiosity, and then he would go back to running another route, and Peter might very well go with him. So… it seemed that no matter what she did, there was no guarantee things would stay the way they were now. Shannon was realizing now just how much she really looked forward to seeing Peter, and how empty she'd feel if she were to lose that…


	9. Chapter 9

"Umm…" Shannon's instincts warred within her. On the one hand, she wanted to make peace with Davy, as she knew it was important to Peter. But on the other hand, things were great the way they were now, and she didn't want Davy to start taking another route, and have Peter follow along. If Davy's hunger to see the treehouse was satisfied, there would be no more reason for him to jog by here, and he might convince Peter to go elsewhere. However, she had to remind herself that if Peter really liked her, that shouldn't make any difference—he'd still find a way to see her, shy or not. She had to make a decision one way or the other.

"Okay," Shannon said, trying to sound sanguine, but not quite getting there. "Bring him by tomorrow morning if you can."

She could see the reaction bubbling in Peter like so much froth over the rim of an overheated cup of hot cocoa, the gratitude flickering warm in his eyes.

"Cool, he'll see what a trip it is on the inside!"

"There's only one problem," Shannon looked earnest in the face of Peter's rhythm as he swayed a bit in place, hardly being able to stand still. He was practically dancing with the image of telling Davy that he would finally see the inside of the treehouse, something that had been a main topic of Davy's ever since they'd met Shannon. He'd be happy to fulfill Davy's wish.

"I don't have a washer and dryer, and I have a few loads of laundry. Since I'm off tomorrow, I have to go to the laundromat," she stated. "And I have to get started fairly early."

"How long will it take?"

"About three hours, at the least." Shannon was not looking forward to killing time while waiting for her clothes to wash and dry.

"I could go with you, if you go after we have practice, and before our gig," suggested Peter, a longing look on his face, like a puppy who waits to be invited in from the cold. "And Davy could still come over with me in the morning for a short time. Just long enough for him to see the inside. After about three hours of practice," Peter calculated it in his head. "Would about noon be too late?"

"You'll be too tired! Hours of practice, hours of laundry, then hours of playing at a club!"

"No I won't. We do our laundry in a laundromat too." Then he remembered April, and hoped to God Shannon wouldn't want to go to that particular laundromat.

"Which one would you suggest?" she asked. "In my last place, my roommate had the facilities, so I'm not familiar with the best ones."

Peter suggested the one he and the other guys went to, safely miles away from where April worked. Just one of the many valuable lessons they'd learned through the adventures in their relatively short lives, and their time together— to never again fall for the same girl. Peter still had the scars on his inner thighs and calves from climbing up that telephone pole to call and find out what April's interests were.

"Okay."

"I can pick you up in the Monkeemobile, so you can see it too! We'll get lots accomplished! Actually, I have a couple loads I should get done too."

It sounded to Shannon like an awfully hectic day for Peter, but he kept insisting he wanted to.

About then, they heard loud meowing. They paused and looked at each other with whimsical amusement, and in the huge window in the living room appeared a delicate tortoise shell cat on the other side of the glass, peering in with big questing eyes.

"Oh no, not again," Shannon despaired with a deep sigh. "More and more have been showing up, but they're not terribly hungry; mostly they just want to visit," she explained as Peter went to the door, opened it, and squatted down to stroke the cat's back, the purr being so loud that Shannon could hear it from ten feet away.

"One of the hazards of living in a treehouse," he quipped, his dimple teasing her. "How many?" he asked.

"Too many. At least eight, maybe ten."

"Oh Lord. Where are they coming from?"

"I don't know, but it seems that animals have targeted me for most of my life. They just seem to find me. I guess they know I have affection for them, and can't turn them away."

"The same thing happens to Davy," said Peter, his eyes suddenly faraway, in another dimension. He had a way of zoning out a little when he spoke of Davy. "He rides horses, but would be glad to just pet them all day if you let him; dogs love him, cats, rabbits, guinea pigs, chickens, well, just about any animal…"

"You too," Shannon smiled gently, shocked that the words had passed her lips. "You have a real love for him; you couldn't hide it if you tried."

Peter himself smiled slightly in a slow, hesitant way, but made no move to evade her words. She hadn't meant a romantic love, she'd meant more like a brotherly love, but seeing the look in his hazel eyes made her wonder just a little. Each time she saw Peter, he revealed a little more of himself to her. He felt so deeply about things, he held on so tightly, had depths of passion—all you had to do was look at him, spend a little time with him, to know it. He surely did wear his heart on his sleeve. Shannon could almost, but not quite, visualize him loving Davy openly, with no reticence. She was sure he loved his other bandmates as well, but Davy seemed to have a singular noteworthy effect on Peter. All Peter had to do was mention his name, or just hear it mentioned, and he practically liquefied, or, like the purring cat that had blissfully rolled over onto it's back-Peter did that metaphorically. The word Davy was music to his ears.

"I guess I do have a bit of a crush on him… a guy crush," he amended quickly, fearful of her reaction, amazed that he'd enlightened her with that classified information. He'd never breathed a word of it before to _anyone._ Shannon, however, actually thought it a bit charming, and not a bit harmful or distasteful.

"Nothing wrong with that. I think it happens to everyone at one time or another."

Wisely, Peter kept his mouth shut, but wondered to himself, as he had so many times before, why he idolized Davy so much, wanted him near, never grew weary of his presence, and his feelings for Micky and Michael paled next to it. When he'd had enough of Micky and Mike, he'd go to his room to get away, but there was no such thing as too much of Davy.

They talked for just a little longer, then Peter rose, taking his iced tea glass to the sink, saying over his shoulder, "I'd better head back now. If we practice hard today, maybe tomorrow I can get back here to go to the laundromat a bit earlier."

"You really don't have to go with me, it's so boring."

"Nothing would be boring if I'm with you." He was learning to be quite the charmer, she thought to herself as she watched him jog off back toward the Pad. He'd still had yet to lay a finger on her, yet he had her mesmerized.

A little later, Shannon's father called her- his interest in Peter was aroused, and he hadn't been able to resist. He called on the pretense that he wanted to tell her how nice her place looked. Well, it was true that he'd forgotten to mention it earlier today because of Peter's intervention. It looked even nicer than the last time he'd been there.

"Peter wouldn't happen to be the guy you read the riot act to about trespassing, is he?"

Ah… so _that_ was the real reason for her father's call.

"No, Daddy. But the guy I told you about is Davy, Peter's friend and bandmate. They jog together. Peter showed up a little later—he's not as fast as Davy. I yelled at him too, but things are straightened out now."

"Well, that's a little confusing, but as long as everything is alright…"

"Peter is a great guy. You'd never have to worry about him, Daddy."

"If he just didn't have all that damn long hair," grumbled her father, and though Shannon tried to stem it, she had to laugh. She'd known that was coming.

"It's the style, Daddy."

"I guess…but I can't understand it. Anyway, your house looks really nice. I'm impressed, and I wanted you to know that."

Tears burned the back of Shannon's eyes. It meant a lot, coming from her father. It wasn't as if he threw compliments out freely.

After she hung the phone up, memories of her childhood came creeping in to haunt her once again. The fun times with her mother flooded her before she could build a dam strong enough to hold back the rushing tide of melancholy. She'd gotten all the attention as an only child, and though she'd sometimes longed for a sister, even back then she'd been aware down deep that she was blessed to have all her parents' attentions on herself. She'd learned all about working, bills and responsibility after her mother died. Only months later, having graduated high school, she'd left home. It was time she experienced life independently. It was quite a shock to her system, having had no cares beforehand, free to be a little girl, and then her entire world became an alien place full of deadlines, a lack of tolerance, and all manner of dangers. Her father was always there for her, but she was proud that she'd never asked to borrow money from him after she'd gotten on her feet. He'd helped her to get an apartment, but after that, she'd done it all herself. Paid her own rent, bought her own food, and felt like, for the first time in her life, she had accomplished something, however small. She'd learned to be brave and face the world boldly. Most of all, she was proud she could carry on with her life after losing her best friend—her mother. But it had left her scarred. She was still raw—her innocence had gone along with it.

The emotional side of things had hit her the hardest. She no longer had her mother to confide in, or go to when she needed emotional support. Or even to call on the phone—to hear that familiar, loving voice that had always put things back into perspective. Her high school friends had gotten married and/or moved away, and she found herself almost exclusively on her own. Then she'd made friends with Gretchen when she'd gotten her supermarket job. She'd started out as a box girl, then became a checker several months later. Soon after that, Gretchen was hired, and even though Shannon was reluctant to get close to anyone, she found Gretchen was made of supreme friend material. Shannon was choosy about friends, and only wanted a bare minimum because of her fear of losing them. She didn't like the feeling of being alone in the world except for her father, but it was better than being ever afraid people would disappear from her life at any moment. The only way she could battle the fear of losing more people dear to her heart was to basically stay at arms-length. Gretchen was a great catalyst toward Shannon learning to open her heart again, although she still had a long way to venture.

And now Peter had come along and reminded her that there were still people around who could hurt her terribly by leaving. Either by dying or whatever else, it didn't matter. It came out the same in the end—she'd be alone again. And she didn't think she could take much more of that. That was why she'd been so reluctant to get to know Peter. There wasn't much not to like about Peter, and he'd somehow managed to snag her but good. She wished she didn't feel that insidious attraction every time she saw him, sat next to him, or touched him, with even the barest brush of their fingers. She was drawn to him and there wasn't a thing she could do to talk herself out of it. Her body defied her. So did her sensibilities. He complicated things, but he was also good for her, that she couldn't deny.

If they could just be friends, things would be perfect. She'd have a male and female friend, and that would be enough. She didn't need romance right now.

Dating, unlike for most young girls, hadn't been any fun for her. She'd decided long ago that all members of the male gender were generally the same. They might attract her until things got intimate, and then, inevitably, she just seemed to lose interest. They'd show some lack of caring, or be selfish or be crude. But Peter was different from the word go. He was fun… he wasn't in any way like those other guys. She asked herself over and over if he really was as delightful as he seemed to be, or was she just_ wanting_ to see something that wasn't really there? Convince herself that there were, in fact, some good, caring guys to be found? No… Peter was... something she had never experienced before.

In the morning, Peter and Davy arrived at exactly 8:30. Davy's dark eyes looked menacing when she met them at the property line. At least that's how it appeared, until she realized he was just serious. His interest in the treehouse was lurking under the surface, straining to come bursting through.

As they went up the steps and entered her home, he could hold back no longer. "Oh man, I dig it!" were the first words from his mouth. Shannon gave him a tour, Peter watching on, smiling. Davy was precise in his examination of everything. She noticed how he studied the design on the steps that led to her bed, how his eyes took in the tile in the kitchen, the cabinets, and when he saw the bathroom, his eyes went straight to the giant glass window by the bathtub, just as Peter's had.

After the most thorough inspection Shannon had ever seen, Davy asked if he could look at the outside as well. He climbed into the nearest tree to accomplish that. He just shimmied right up it, the way Peter must have done to rescue her cat.

"Ah, so now I know where you guys got the name for your band! You're both monkeys!" she laughed, and for the first time, she heard Davy laugh as well. She'd thought of him as some cold, distant, unfeeling bastard, but he was rapidly proving himself otherwise. He actually had a personality, and it was in direct contrast to the person she'd thought he was. That's what she got for prejudging him…

Not a single thing escaped Davy's notice, and when he finally spoke, it was explicit.

"I've never seen such a fine job done above the ground. It would even be a fine job _on _the ground. It's so solidly built, nothing has been overlooked that I see. I'm no expert, you see, but I didn't expect such craftsmanship."

They now stood below the tree, and Shannon found that her throat was too tight to make any comment. He was telling her that her father had spared no expense for her to have a safe, comfortable home that was aesthetically pleasing as well. He was paying her father an enormous compliment. She wondered if he even knew her father had built it, although she assumed Peter had told him.

Davy's dark eyes were warm now, they no longer held that suspicion she'd loathed before, and they twinkled with mischief that was held in check. She could only imagine all the trouble he and Peter and perhaps the other Monkees could get into. She could sense it. There was also an air of _something _surrounding Davy and Peter, a sort of magic. It made the fine hair on Shannon's arms feel as though they were standing straight up. They were easy and agreeable with each other; certainly it was plain that they were best friends. Something that Shannon's attention was called to was that Davy was better at hiding his affection for Peter. Peter had a natural inclination to "let it all hang out," and openly admired and appreciated Davy. Davy was a bit more reserved.

"Well, we'll go to practice now. Peter wants to start as soon as possible so he can come back here," Davy jabbed Peter playfully in the ribs with his elbow.

"To do laundry!" emphasized Peter, his cheeks steadily growing pink.

"Sure, Pete," Davy's grin was playing with the edges of his full lips. Peter sighed loudly.

"Just kidding, Pete!" Davy glanced over at Shannon and shrugged his shoulders. "He embarrasses easily," he explained.

"I've discovered that," Shannon smiled. "But it's sure a nice change!" she added, meaning the other guys she'd known. "And no… I wasn't referring to you," she said to Davy, just to be sure he knew she wasn't throwing a dig at him.

Peter called her about two and a half hours later. It was the first time he'd ever called her, and it made her feel weak and shaky. "I can be there in half an hour, is that okay?"

"Yes! That's fine. I'll have all my laundry ready so we can just load it in the car."

Peter's voice sounded so rich and low over the phone. It did in person too, but was even more noticeable on the phone because you didn't see that innocent look on his face. Shannon shivered after hanging up. That man did things to her that she shouldn't be thinking about.

Shannon practically drooled all over the hood of the Monkeemobile when Peter came to pick her up.

"This is the neatest car I think I've ever seen!" she marveled.

"Thank you. She's our baby." After only a few blocks, Shannon learned to ignore the stares they got from passing people in cars and on sidewalks. The Monkeemobile was a real attention getter, and it seemed that almost every muscle car that drew up beside them when they stopped at a light, wanted to race them. Peter just ignored it with his cheerful smile. After a while she just tuned out the revving engines the way Peter did. He wasn't about to abuse the Monkees' transportation.

She was astonished at how fast the day went by as they loaded their clothes into the washers, and then transferred them to the dryers (when one was available) and talked until their mouths would hardly function anymore. There was so much to catch up on—their whole lives. By the time four o'clock came around and they folded the last of the laundry and put it into the baskets and pillow cases they'd brought, they pretty much knew each other's entire history.

Peter pulled into a pizza joint on the way to taking Shannon home.

"You're probably tired after all that laundry-from-hell," he joked. "Let's get you a pizza so you don't have to cook tonight."

Shannon was shocked speechless. Never had a guy done something like this! "I'm fine—you're the one who still has to play a gig tonight."

"I have a couple hours to rest," was his answer.

Since he already knew her life history, he also knew she loved pizzas with the works, so he ordered a large one. "Peter, I can't eat a whole pizza!"

"Well, if you want me to help you eat it, you'll have to wait until about two am," he said, a tickle of a tease in his voice. "You don't work tomorrow, right?"

"No, and I'd love that, if you really mean it!"

"I was just joking—you can always freeze it. I would never bother you at two in the morning."

She wasn't sure how to react. If he truly _was_ joking, then she'd feel foolish actually encouraging him to come over at that hour. After all, he'd be exhausted by then. Maybe he was acting as if he were joking, figuring she wouldn't take him seriously, but still trying the idea out on her. They really hadn't known each other that long, when you thought about it.

Honesty was always best. "Peter, I'd love you to come over after the gig, but I know how tired you'll be. So I'll leave it up to you."

"I'll be there!"

No one noticed Shannon as she sat at the back of the club in a dark corner, watching the Monkees perform that night. Peter had told her where they were playing, so, on a whim, here she was. She hadn't known what to expect. It wasn't a dive, in fact it was a decent place. A little too smoky, but what club wasn't?

When the Monkees started to play, her heart began to hammer. There was Peter, on bass, all smiles, having the time of his life. He and Davy were standing about as close together as they could get without Davy hitting Peter with maracas, or Peter thunking Davy with his bass, smiling often at each other, a tall guy with dark hair and a green wool hat on guitar on the opposite side of the stage, and the drummer had fuzzy, curly, wild hair and made all kinds of funny faces. An unlikely crew, but they worked together. Peter sang great back-up vocals, but didn't lead on any of the songs. She loved his back-up though, the pleasing lyric baritone sweeping through her, practically seducing her. Davy's voice was like an angel's, just what she would have expected. He seemed just as comfortable as Peter on stage, all animation and pure entertainment. The one with the hat had a great voice too, with a very distinct Texas accent to go with it. He wasn't active though. He mostly stood stock still, and she didn't see him smile except when they were announced, and at the end. It gave him a tough character look. The drummer sang lead on about seventy-five percent of the songs, and his voice was truly amazing. Very versatile, with a good range. The kind of voice just about _everyone_ could get into.

The evening ended much too quickly for Shannon as she watched Davy bang the tambourine over his head for the last time, Peter lifting his bass high as the last note was played. Then Shannon slipped quietly out the door…


	10. Chapter 10

Shannon rushed home, even though she knew the guys would have to take all their equipment down and load it in the Monkeemobile before heading home. She'd had a small salad for dinner, deciding to wait to eat the pizza with Peter tonight.

When at long last she heard the roar of the Monkeemobile's engine a little before two, she could hardly believe the shot of adrenaline that pierced right through her-how disconcerted she became. She didn't know what to do with herself. Why so edgy? She was tired from all of the day's activities, but when she thought about Peter, that tiredness dissolved, and something without a name took it's place.

Next, she heard his boots clacking up the steps and her nerves quivered anew. She was irritated with herself. There was no reason to be having this kind of response. She was really wired, eager to see him, although she'd seen him off and on since this morning. _Ridiculous. Get ahold of yourself!_

Wordlessly, she let him in, opening the door before he had a chance to knock, smiling warmly, and as he brushed past her, she inhaled his unique scent that was so intoxicating. She'd know it anywhere. His dimple beckoned, and she went to jelly.

"I really didn't expect you to be awake," he said.

"Really? I've been looking forward to it," said Shannon as she slid the pizza into the oven to warm up. Boy, was _that_ an understatement!

"You were fantastic tonight… that's my confession for the day," Shannon said a bit sheepishly.

He just stared at her, not understanding.

"I was at the club, Peter. I watched you, and you were unbelievable."

"You were? You were at the club? But I didn't see you!"

"That's because I didn't want you to. I sat way in the back."

"Why didn't you come say hello?"

"I didn't want you to know I was there. I just wanted to enjoy watching you."

"So you liked us?"

"Loved you."

"I'd thought about asking you to come watch before… but… wasn't sure how you'd feel about it. If I'd only known you were there, I would have gotten you a seat in front."

"I saw the way you… danced… with your bass…" she was way too embarrassed to mention that his hip movements had gotten her more than a little hot.

Peter blushed, then pushed past the awkwardness and laughed heartily. He'd come up against this many times before. "Davy and some other people have commented on that. I don't mean for it to look… indecent, but…I was told it looks a little… suggestive. But I'm just getting into the music, honestly," he looked as if he wondered if she did or didn't approve.

"Oh, Peter! I liked it! No complaints here, believe me!" Now she was blushing right along with him.

"The guy with the green wool hat… he was rather reserved, so I assume he's Michael, and the wild drummer is Micky."

Peter nodded his approval. "Shows you were listening."

"So what song did you like best?" Peter's eyes were dancing with enthusiasm. He was so pleased she'd been there.

"I think I'd have to say a certain one that Davy sang—it's really romantic," she wasn't sure of the name of the song.

"I Wanna Be Free?"

"No, he danced and it was very upbeat in addition to romantic."

"Ah… Daydream Believer. It's also Michael's favorite. That song is going to be a huge hit some day."

"It touched me deeply, and I liked the way you and Davy interacted in it."

"Yeah, we enjoy that one a lot. You'd probably also like 'She Hangs Out.' Davy dances on that one also. It brings out the cocky… no, cheeky, self-assertive side of Davy very well."

"You have some good descriptive words for him. But why did you substitute cheeky for cocky?"

"Well," Peter rubbed the slight stubble on his chin. "Cocky is more… abrasive than cheeky. More rough and arrogant sounding. Cheeky is more on the amusing side. David is also compassionate, affectionate, self-sacrificing too. He's all of those things and more. He's intricate. I understand him though. A lot of people don't." Peter threw in the extras in hopes of convincing Shannon of his friend's true nature.

A few days ago Shannon would have thought Peter was talking about someone else entirely, but this morning she'd gotten a glimpse into the real Davy, and she'd liked what she'd seen. She should have trusted Peter a little more when they'd spoken of Davy. She shouldn't have been so biased. Peter should know him—he was with him many hours a day, even shared a bedroom with him. And here she had thought she knew it all. Now she felt humbled. _First impressions_—well, Davy hadn't made a very good one, but then, neither had she! In fact, she'd been accusatory, and he'd been apologetic. So actually, if she'd handled the situation maturely, the bad feelings might never have surfaced. No two ways about it, she had to take the blame.

"And I remember you said you have Mike's number. I hope he's not as forbidding as he looks!"

"I know he looks forbidding. But he's been hurt, like all of us, really. No one is immune to hurt. And Mike makes a habit of not talking about it. He keeps it inside, and that just makes it worse. Maybe that's when he got in the habit of not smiling, I don't know. But you should see him with a girl he likes—he's very romantic, and would never lay a hand on a female. He writes love ballads too, that says a lot. He's super sweet, but I guess he doesn't want many people to know it." Peter grinned as he reflected on Michael's habits and sometimes peculiar manner.

"And Micky. He looks like a handful."

"Oh, he is. No doubt about it. No one has ever made me laugh as hard as Micky does. Micky is up for anything, anytime. He's all sparkle, all effervescence. And his vitality is astounding. He can function on about three hours of sleep a night and still perform at his best. He's got a serious side too, of course. He sometimes tries to hide hurt under humor, but the other three of us know what's going on. We're a close, tight-knit group."

"I'm beginning to see that. Oh… the pizza!" Shannon jumped to life and pulled the pizza out, hot and sizzling. "Good, it's not burned." They sat at the table.

"The whole thing is still here! Didn't you eat any for dinner?" asked Peter.

"I had a salad. I wanted to eat it with you," Shannon avoided his eyes, for fear he'd see too much. He seemed to read people well, and she didn't want him seeing the degree of affection she felt toward him. It was hard enough to mask it without him looking right into her soul. This was to be a friendship, not a love affair, after all.

Peter always had an excellent appetite. He ate four slices to Shannon's two. He could have easily eaten two more, but he didn't tell her that. He might not be wise in the ways of women, but it was only common sense not to make a pig of yourself in front of one.

"Well… I appreciate you asking me over, but it's two-thirty in the morning, and I'm sure you're wanting to go to bed," he announced soon after they'd finished eating.

"Don't go just yet, Peter," she hadn't been able to stem the words. "I enjoy your company. You see, I only have one friend, and that's Gretchen, at work. I don't normally socialize much at all, but you… there's something about you that is so pleasant and puts me at ease."

Peter looked thoughtful. "I feel the same about you. You're a lot easier to talk to than most girls. But… why do you only have one friend?"

"I've been like this since my mother died."

"Oh. I'm sorry," he didn't know what to say.

Shannon put the remaining pizza in aluminum foil and placed it in the refrigerator. "I'll think about you when I have a slice for breakfast," she said to Peter. Somehow, that simple statement affected him, and he felt himself unfolding, and growing in his pants. He realized why a moment later. It brought images to him of them spending the night together. But of course, she hadn't meant it that way. His own thoughts had followed that course, not anything she'd said. _Wouldn't it be great though, to spend the night with her, and then share the pizza in the morning? _He'd be thrilled, even if nothing happened.

Peter had spooked himself, afraid she'd see his arousal. He fidgeted and slid around on the chair, and that was when she invited him into the living room, thinking he'd be more comfortable on the couch, than in the straight backed chair. She had no idea what kind of uncomfortable physical state he was in. If she discovered _that,_ he'd be mortified. So he rushed to the couch ahead of her, and tried to arrange himself in a way she was least likely to see his erection. He was experimenting with several styles of sitting when she came in from the kitchen a few seconds earlier than he'd anticipated.

"What's wrong, Peter? You have ants in your pants like Davy did the other day?" she laughed. Peter felt the blush rushing up his neck to his face, the blood pumping hard. Man, she had no idea…

"Um, I have to go to the bathroom, excuse me, please," and he was off to the restroom. He'd left so quickly that Shannon feared that maybe the pizza had made him ill. But he was back a couple of minutes later, looking healthy as ever. Oh, and how those tight gray band pants hugged his thighs, his butt, his… crotch. Horrified by the direction of her thoughts and suddenly aware that she was staring right at his crotch caused Shannon to rush past Peter, into the bathroom herself.

Peter was puzzled. He could have _sworn_ she'd looked down at his crotch. Good thing the cold water on his hands had helped a bit, but he was, in fact, still halfway hard. There was a chance she'd seen it. How would he face her when she came back from the bathroom? Well, he'd just have to pretend like nothing had happened. If he let himself believe the notion that she might have seen it, he'd be borrowing trouble, and he didn't need that.

"Would you like a beer, Peter?" she asked when she reappeared from the restroom. _A beer, yeah. That was an excellent idea._

"Sounds good, but will you have one with me this time?" He could have kicked himself. She might take that as sounding like he wanted her to get buzzed, and that wasn't his intention at all. But she breezed right through it, evidently not getting that impression.

"Sounds good to me too. I have one every now and then," she said as she brought two into the living room. "Sometimes even _two,"_ she winked at him conspiratorially.

Peter pulled the tab, and _phoosh!_ The beer sprayed forceably right into his face, all over his shirt and the front of his hair. He gasped, shocked and alarmed in one huge beer flavored inhalation. He sputtered and swallowed in order to avoid spitting it all over the carpet. He then smiled helplessly as the beer ran in rivulets down the sides of his face and into his eyes.

"Oh my God! Oh Peter, I'm sorry!" Shannon just sat there, catatonic for a few seconds. Then she sprang into action and fetched a wad of paper towels from the kitchen, wetting them in the sink, and began mopping the front of Peter's shirt. Since she'd gotten to it right away, it all came out. Her mother had taught her that—if you cleaned something immediately, you could get most things completely out.

After that, she went back into the kitchen and brought a clean, damp dish towel to give the same treatment to his face. It came to Peter that, in a way, it was a mixed blessing, because it had been a very effective antidote for his hard-on.

"Oh, Peter. I forgot that I dropped the six-pack when I put it in the fridge. We're going to have to run your hair under the sink. Your bangs are completely soaked." He followed her passively into the kitchen, and she ran warm water over the front of his hair until she felt all the beer was rinsed out, then led him back into the living room and began drying his face, and then his bangs with a dry towel. She was so intent on what she was doing that she didn't realize she had pushed her chest right up against his face as she worked on ruffling his hair dry with the towel. Peter dared not move a fraction of an inch in this situation. He wanted like hell to nuzzle his face between her breasts, but, of course, he didn't dare do that. He loved it though, and even more, he loved the fact that she'd done it herself, without even realizing it.

Oh, she'd wanted to run her hands through his hair for such a long time that this was going to be rapturous … She buried her hands into the dry part, pulling in the fragrance of shampoo, feeling the unexpected softness. It always looked so soft and silky, but it had seemed like it would be too good to be true if it truly felt how it looked. Now she knew, and she also knew she didn't have a ghost of a chance of keeping her hands out of it from now on. It was as soft, or softer, than her own hair. Thick, silky, resilient, sun-kissed.

Suddenly realizing she was pressed up against Peter's face, his nose right between her breasts, she snapped her body back in a flash. With all her determination, she managed to make light of it, before the embarrassment again spiraled out of control.

"Oh sorry… didn't mean to… squish… your face," she laughed, as if she were make an off-hand joke, hoping to veil the nervousness. Getting out of this inelegant moment was tricky.

"Don't mind a bit." Well, Peter had solved that mess with four words. God bless him.

She then got the pleasure of being able to comb his hair, and he reminded her a bit of a cat when it experiences something pleasurable. He was practically rubbing his head up against her shoulder.

"Hold still… there, I think that's where your part was," she said. It was hard to tell with the abundance of silken glory he had on his head.

Then she saw he was shivering, and that his shirt was even more wet than she'd thought. The entire front of it was practically dripping.

"Oh Peter, I don't think I have a shirt that would fit you, but you need to get that wet shirt off."

Oh, sweet Lord, now she'd opened the biggest Pandora's box yet. It was uncanny, the situations she kept finding herself in with this gorgeous hunk of man who had not a glimmer of his attractiveness…

She just sat there, allowing her jaw to drop as Peter peeled off his wet shirt. Holy… she tried to look away, but her head kept snapping right back again as if it were attached to a rubber band. She'd never seen him shirtless before. That shimmering gold hair on his chest, pink nipples, arms that were firm and toned, starting to show muscle, that hard, flat stomach. If she fainted right here, what would she tell Peter when she woke up? That his sexy body had caused her to swoon?

"Um, here's an afghan," she handed it to him, and he put it around his shoulders.

"That feels good," he said in his innocent way. But after warming up a bit, he stopped holding it together in front, just letting it drape over his shoulders, and she could once again see glimpses of his chest, and concentration was almost impossible.

"Looks like… you've been lifting weights in addition to the running," She had to say _something,_ as he was going to get wise to her if she kept staring at him like a hungry tigress.

"Oh, yeah. I have a way to go yet to look like Davy, but I'm working at it, in my spare time."

Shannon moved to pick up her beer to put it back in the refrigerator. She wasn't going to chance another blow-up. "Here, let me," Peter took the can from her, opening the tab a tiny bit at a time to let off the pressure gradually, then he handed it to her, all fizziness gone.

"Thank you, Peter! You're a wiz!"

"Ah, it's a pretty widely practiced thing among soft drink and beer drinkers," he shrugged the compliment off.

A pathetic meow sounded. There was Geisha, on the top of the back of the couch, her entire right side splattered with beer, furiously licking herself and making faces while doing so. Peter and Shannon both laughed.

"Must taste pretty bitter to her," said Peter.

Shannon could not take her eyes off Peter. As hard as she tried to keep her attention on the conversation, it was no use. Peter was getting self-conscious, not sure what she was thinking, so after his beer was gone, he again suggested he should go home. It was now three in the morning.

Shannon didn't argue this time. By the time she got to sleep, it would be four or five, and then she'd end up sleeping until early afternoon, but she had to admit that letting him go was getting tougher every time.

At the door, he slipped into his shy face, looked at the floor and asked if he could call her tomorrow.

_Could he call? Hell yes!_

_When had been the last time a guy had not expected anything from her but friendship? Elementary school? Yeah, probably that long ago. There'd been the occasional guy who wanted to borrow money, but usually, they wanted… sex. It was their end goal, and they weren't good at concealing it. And if there was no sign of it forthcoming, they would move on. But not Peter. He seemed to gladly accept whatever she wanted to offer—even simple friendship._

"Of course. You can call whenever you want, Peter."

"Um, Shannon…"

"Yes?"

"There's something…"

Her eyes searched his. "Go ahead."

He handed her the afghan, and although keeping her eyes on his face instead of his chest was tough going, she somehow managed it. His voice had sounded different—serious; you could almost say deadly serious. His eyes mirrored that seriousness, but sadly, he lacked the resolve to complete his thought. She sensed he wasn't going to go through with what he'd started to say before he'd even opened his mouth.

"Do you…" Pete's eyes looked haunted, almost tortured for a moment. "Oh, never mind. I'll talk to you tomorrow," and he split-out the door and down the steps before she could say another word. She opened her mouth to say his name, but it came out as barely a whisper. The night swallowed him up as if he were a nocturnal creature of prey. A few minutes later the click of his boot heels on the street, the opening and closing of the car door, then the engine turning over and the low, loping purr of the Monkeemobile as Peter eased it away from the curb with a gentle foot, then all was silent again as the sound of the car faded into the night.


	11. Chapter 11

Shannon closed the door and turned to see Peter's wet shirt draped over the chair. He'd left without it. A slow smile slipped into place on her face, she sighed, fondly held it up to her face, then put it on a clothes hanger and hung it on the deck to dry. Then she went to bed, blonde hair and dimples chasing her dreams.

When he called the next day, Peter's voice was cautious. He was afraid she was going to ask him what he hadn't finished saying as he'd left the night before. And he was right. She invited him over for some talk, and they were barely into five minutes of the conversation before she brought it up.

"I just can't, Shannon. I'm sorry, but I guess I'm not ready to talk to you about it yet."

She knew not to press him, sensitive soul that he was, and just clung to the hope that he'd open up to her when the time was right. She handed him his dry shirt, and he grinned.

"Funny how I didn't even notice I didn't have a shirt on when I left last night," he said. _You were in a hurry_, _afraid I'd try to coax it out of you,_ she thought to herself.

"Must have looked pretty suspicious to the neighbors too," Shannon joked. She didn't, of course, have any neighbors that were especially close by, and even if she had, she wouldn't have cared—it had been three in the morning. Astonishingly, Peter didn't blush at her words. Maybe she was making some progress toward getting him to stop being so shy with her after all.

Peter was utterly fascinating to Shannon. The situation was perfect just the way it was. She knew that, and it was just what she'd wished for. There was only one thing that had the potential to threaten their friendship. And that was that he turned her on. She'd thought it would wear off, but all it had done was to gather strength. A large part of what she found attractive in a guy was his attitude. Peter had it all-a splendid attitude, not a trace of arrogance, a genuinely friendly manner, an interest in her and heaps of compassion—all the qualities the others hadn't had. So this, along with her attraction to him physically was almost overwhelming.

Over the next two weeks, they tried to find out where all the cats were coming from. There was a black and white spotted one, a couple of orange ones, a calico, a couple of black ones, three striped ones, and the tortoise shell. They climbed the tree and appeared on her deck each morning, mewing and pawing gently at the sliding glass door. She always offered them food, but they ate very little. They were obviously not starved, but fat and sleek. And every one of them was a lover. Peter and Shannon cuddled them and scratched them for a while, and then they would leave, only to be back again the next day for a repeat.

"They have to be coming from somewhere!" said Shannon one day. "I mean, where are they living?"

"Probably belong to people in that neighborhood over there," Peter pointed in the direction of where Shannon and her father had gotten signatures from the residents for the Artesian well.

"You're probably right. But why do they all come here?"

"It's a mystery to me too, but do you want to go over there and ask around to see if anyone knows anything?" Peter was ever-eager and willing to do whatever she suggested. So off they went in the Monkeemobile, and it didn't take long to get information. Everyone was familiar with the old lady who had "tons" of cats, as the people put it. They directed Peter and Shannon to her home.

The elderly woman opened the door and shuffled out slowly and carefully onto her front porch, which was pretty much the worse for wear, as was the rest of the outside of her house. Shannon regarded the peeling paint, the dubious roof shingles, the badly worn window screens. The yard was neat though, and there were quite a few snapdragons, plumbago, pansies and bird of paradise, among other colorful plants in bloom in a little fenced in garden under the front windows of her house. Shannon immediately recognized two of the cats who had been regular visitors, amongst at least a dozen others.

"We're sorry to bother you, but I live over that way, and I've asked the neighbors about cats that were showing up at my house, and they told me you have some," explained Shannon. "Now, I don't mind them at all, they're lovely, but I'm mystified as to why they keep showing up, since they aren't particularly hungry."

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. They are such a friendly, personable bunch," Mrs. Becker said in a pleasant, yet raspy voice. Her faded pink floral dress that reached to her ankles was well worn, but clean, and her glossy silver hair had been gathered into a neat bun at the back of her head, every hair in place. She had clear, light blue eyes that seemed to take everything in. She was cute as a button, and must have been striking when younger. She was all of about four foot ten.

"Oh, I don't mind them at all, I just wondered where they'd come from," said Shannon. "I love all animals, and they climb up to my treehouse to visit."

"Oh! So you're the one with the treehouse!" Mrs. Becker's rheumy eyes lit up. "It's the talk of the neighborhood, let me tell you. People have seen it from the street, and there is talk that it's enormous... for a treehouse, that is." The old lady smiled, and it was as if the sun had come out after a year of darkness. The deep wrinkles deepened even more, and, somehow, the woman became even more attractive as a result.

"I don't get out much, just walk to that store over there," she pointed vaguely away from the direction of Shannon's house. "So I haven't seen your treehouse myself. I hope my babies don't disturb you. They just can't seem to get enough love."

"No, they don't disturb me, Mrs. Becker. I just wanted to be sure they hadn't been dumped or anything. They're welcome to visit me anytime—we're just glad to hear they have a happy home. If I'm not being too inquisitive, how many do you have?"

"Well, let's see... I don't think anyone knows for sure, including myself. But it's currently somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-eight to thirty-five. They've all been fixed, by the way, so no worry about kittens," Mrs. Becker's eyes twinkled. "A dear local vet took pity on me and fixed them all for almost nothing."

Peter's eyebrows raised when he'd heard the number. "Well, I guess we're lucky then, that only about ten of them come to see us," he said without realizing how it made his relationship with Shannon sound to Mrs. Becker.

_Us… he'd said us._

"Yes..." Mrs. Becker chuckled softly. "I'll tell the ones who come see you not to tell the others, okay? And you two are the cutest couple!" As a result of that remark, both Peter and Shannon reddened. You would think they would be immune to blushing by now.

"Oh, we're just friends," explained Shannon.

Mrs. Becker nodded sagely, a hard-earned wisdom showing in her eyes told the story without her having to say a word. The old woman could see the vivid mutual attraction between these two young people, even if they, themselves, didn't yet realize the immensity of it. Oh, she remembered the feeling…

"Well," said Shannon as they climbed back into the Monkeemobile, waving at Mrs. Becker as they drove off. "At least now we know they have a loving home."

"It's funny that they travel about half a mile to come see you," Peter glanced over at her slyly. "I would too though, if I were a cat."

There he went with his cute compliments again!

One afternoon, as she came in the door after work, the phone was ringing. It was her father.

"Shannon," said Phil. "I hear on the news that the beaches are in for some high winds in the next couple of days, starting tomorrow evening. I wanted to call and let you know, and to remind you that you'll feel it. I didn't want it to take you by surprise, but it'll be fine."

"You did mention the wind when you were building the treehouse, Daddy. I'm sure I'll handle it alright."

"Well, I check screws, supports and such every time I come over, so I know nothing is amiss with the house's integrity, so nothing to be concerned about.

But I do want you to know it'll be a very different feel than a house that sits on the ground in high winds. Call someone if you get nervous. It'll help to have someone with you. Maybe Peter will come over. If you can't find anyone, just call me, and I'll come over."

"Daddy! That's a quite a bit of a drive for you at night. Thanks for calling about it though. It's nice to have a warning." Shannon smiled to herself. Her dad always kept track of the weather, and alerted her every time there was anything he thought might concern her, even when she hadn't lived in the treehouse. She had also been taken aback when he'd mentioned her calling Peter. That wasn't like him. He must like Peter a bit more than he let on.

"I love you, Daddy." She hung up and basically forgot about the conversation until the following night. Peter hadn't called today. He called about every other day, and came over every three or four days to sit and talk. She really looked forward to those visits. She had the feeling he was reining himself in about coming over. Little did he know she would have loved daily visits.

She'd noticed the wind picking up a few hours ago, and it was getting steadily stronger. Then she started to feel the slight motion in the house. Oh, this wasn't so bad. No big deal—she could handle it. But then the winds picked up even more, and creaking sounds started to intrude, and it felt as if she were swaying just the slightest bit. This was getting spooky. Even Geisha looked a bit ill at ease, and after a while, the cat disappeared into the loft, to go underneath the bed, something she did whenever she wasn't happy with a situation.

The wind got worse, and so did both the creaking and swaying. Shannon turned on the TV to try to ease her tangled nerves, and they were reporting winds of sixty miles an hour on the coast. Before long, there was so much movement that she was afraid she might actually get seasick, although she didn't feel nauseous—but the motion seemed almost strong enough for it. It was the oddest feeling to have your house moving underneath you. She couldn't have felt more insecure, like she might fall into space at any moment.

She hadn't called Peter before, but if she were ever to do it, tonight was the night.

A clipped Manchester accent answered the phone, so no doubt as to who it was. "Hi Davy. This is Shannon. Is Peter handy?"

"Oh hi, Shannon. How are you?"

"Fine, just a little shook up by the wind,"

"Yes, it's a dandy, isn't it? _PETEEEEERRR!"_ That boy had a set of lungs!

Peter was on the phone in about ten seconds. "Hi Shannon!"

"Hi Peter. Um… it's so windy, and my house feels like it's moving. I'm freaking out a little bit." Okay, so maybe she was halfway lying about actually freaking out, but what better excuse to get him over there?

"Want me over? I'll be right there," Peter didn't even wait for an answer. She heard the Monkeemobile come to a stop on the street only a couple of minutes later. Good thing it was a week night and they weren't gone, doing a gig.

He leapt up the steps two at a time. When she opened the door, she was never so glad to see him.

"Man," he said. "I can feel it moving already." Then he heard the eerie creaks. They consisted of all manner of squeaks, rubbing and vague wailing sounds, along with the noises the wind itself was making. It made the place sound like a haunted house.

"See? I wasn't kidding."

A particularly hard gust hit the house just then, and Shannon jumped, finding herself in Peter's arms without quite knowing how she got there.

Peter just stood there, frozen in place. Oh God, what should he do now? He didn't know whether to hug her back, or just offer his presence as a solace. No matter what, she mustn't get the wrong impression. She'd flown into_ his_ arms though; it hadn't been his doing. So he allowed his arms to slip slowly and ever so gently around her to cradle her against him.

Carefully governing his voice so as not to let on how pleased it made him that she'd sought him out for comfort, he talked softly.

"I'm glad you… trusted me enough to call me when you were scared."

She held on… she just held on and didn't think about much else except the warm, sweet man who was holding her. He felt so sturdy, so invincible. Her fear of the movement of the house and the spooky sounds now seemed small in comparison to the warm, solid feel of Peter's body.

In the background, Peter was dimly aware of the beads that reflected on the inside walls of Shannon's house. She'd gotten more of them, and different sizes, too. Some were actually glass balls nearly the size of tennis balls. These were silver, and particularly glittered, sending what looked like sparks all over the the house. Hung here and there, they were somehow calming, serene. He thought these personal touches Shannon had stamped on her house charming. Neither of them knew it at the time, or could have known, but in a few years, the disco era would erupt, and, while not rivaling rock and roll, would still influence the music world. So, in some ways, Shannon's decorating was ahead of the times. Every little decoration, even the little turtle and frog figurines placed here and there, on a table or countertop didn't escape Peter's notice. It wasn't overdone, but she'd certainly made a statement. There were pieces of her everywhere, enclosing him in her dreamy little world, a very nice place to be if he had any say in it. He could see the living room through the doorway, the lamp casting a soft glow, making the house even more inviting. To the left he noticed the new bookshelf her father had brought over recently, already mostly filled with books. It fit nicely in the corner. He remembered well that she'd mentioned how she loved to read.

He carefully inched the two of them through the doorway and to the couch. Geisha liked to chase the reflections on the walls, but not tonight. Peter saw her eyes, lit up like beacons, and wide with fright, under Shannon's loft bed. He felt a little sorry for her, as she couldn't really get under the bed like she could have if it were a normal bed. There was too much space—no small, cramped spaces that cats loved to squeeze into. He'd have to find a solution to that sometime soon.

When Shannon didn't let go, Peter remained stationary, wishing this moment could go on for an eternity and longer. He'd never even held her hand, and now… she was clutching him to her. It felt glorious, almost a sensory overload. He tempered himself, not admitting any questionable thoughts into his mind. He felt a loving protectiveness more than anything else. He'd keep her from harm, and he intended to let her know that.

Shannon felt it, bone deep. The attraction. She hadn't faked it—she'd been truly afraid, but somewhere along the way, she began to become aware of his neck that her nose was buried into, his top button being unfastened, as it often was, the springy hair on his chest brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. Suddenly, the movement and noises of the house were extraneous, the feel of Peter at the forefront of anything else. She felt strangely dishonest, calling him over here when she wasn't really_ that_ scared. Afraid, but not afraid enough to not face it alone. She tried to give herself permission to make it a nonissue. But she couldn't deal with the guilt.

She tore herself out of his grasp, causing his face to go pale, his eyes seeking hers for an answer.

"I feel guilty!" she blurted out. "I called you over because the wind scared me, but it was also somewhat of a smoke screen to get you to come—I have to be honest because it wasn't very upfront of me."

Peter stunned her with his response. After a brief pause, he simply said, "Okay, then… let's just wing it."

_What in the world did he mean?_

"What?" she asked, bewildered.

"You called me to come over, feigning fear of the wind, but you didn't know I wanted to come over here anyway, but was afraid you'd get sick of seeing my face… so I refrained from calling you today. What I mean is, if we want to see each other, why make up excuses? We're _both_ doing it. "

"Sounds easy enough, but harder to practice," Shannon realized they were still standing, so she sat down, dragging him with her.

"Excuses, games, why do we do it?" she asked of him. She sat very close to him, and he soaked it up. "I mean, I really was scared, and still am, but…I also had an ulterior motive."

"It's not really games… I don't think. In my case, I think it's that I want to keep you in my life, not alienate you by… coming around too often."

Peter was delighted with himself. Here he was, for the first time in his life, being open and honest with a woman he was attracted to. Except for Lena, but that was a whole different situation.

"You could never come around too often."

Peter was making it easy—_too_ easy. Too easy to feel something for him that was a lot more powerful than a simple friendship. This could be something lasting. But she didn't want to venture there…

Another huge gust, more creaks, something made a scraping sound, and it felt like the treehouse was going to fall and crash to the ground. This time, Shannon was more than scared—she was terrified. Back into Peter's arms she dove. Geisha made a mad dash out from under the bed into the living room, landing on the back of the couch, then using Peter's shoulder to push off as she made a frantic dive under the coffee table.

"Owww!" he yelled. Shannon, whose head was hidden in Peter's chest, hadn't seen Geisha, and figured she was squeezing him too tight, her arms clutching his middle in a vise grip.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it feels like we're falling out of the tree!"

"No we aren't, Shannon." The scratches in his shoulder stung and burned, but he disregarded it, and made small circles on her back with his palm, hoping to calm her. He was glad he'd come over—this _was _a bit rough for a woman who didn't really understand the dynamics of a treehouse. Peter understood the motion, that it was necessary and natural, and didn't indicate any degree of danger of the structure falling. Shannon, though, didn't have the basic understanding that he did. He and Davy had both seen that the building was structurally sound, as was the tree. The supports could easily cope with tension or compression from the wind.

"You can't seriously restrict the movement of your treehouse in the wind, Shannon. It's _good _for it to do a certain amount of twisting and swaying. Your house could be destroyed if you didn't have that flexibility," he was trying to explain it to where she could have at least a fundamental understanding; hoping it would quell some of her fear.

"Your dad would not have built it to where there was any danger of it falling or breaking apart in the wind." And he added for good measure, "He obviously loves you a lot."

Shannon's voice, muffled against his chest was small. "Daddy called not long ago, warning me about the winds. He watches the weather."

"And he told you not to worry, didn't he?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"You'd better believe that if there was any danger whatsoever, your dad would make sure you didn't stay here, and I sure as hell wouldn't allow it either."

Peter could see how unsettling this was for Shannon. It had even caught him off guard. He hadn't thought it would move quite this much, or make this much noise.

"Let's go out on the deck facing the ocean and scream for Davy," he said slyly, bending his neck forward so he could try to see her face that was still nestled into his chest. He was rewarded with a giggle.

"Can you just see us? DAAAAAAVVVY! Like he yelled for you when I called."

"Well, actually, it's usually Mike the rest of us scream for. He's the General at the Pad and really, anywhere else," Peter smiled fleetingly. "Mike's misunderstood a lot, but he takes care of us, keeps us grounded."

The wind was not even close to dying down, and Peter kept up a steady stream of conversation. Presently he saw that Shannon was finally beginning to loosen up, revealing her trust in Peter that they wouldn't fall, treehouse and all.

With her face snuggled into his chest, she inhaled deeply of his delicious aroma. A wonderful thought occurred to her. _Why not drag this out?_ What harm could it do to act as if she was still more afraid than she really was, so she could stay in his arms just a little bit longer?

"So…you trust me that we're safe up here?" He asked sometime later. Shannon, her face still burrowed into his chest, nodded, and said, "I'll absolutely have to have you over when there's a storm." Peter smiled. There would be no argument coming from him.

"I really like… that you trust me." Peter couldn't have explained it had she asked, but having her trust was a powerful aphrodisiac for him. A perfect melding…respect, fondness, and passion he couldn't deny that was hot on his heels, pursuing him, doing it's best to carry him away, like the whipping, howling wind out there…


	12. Chapter 12

It was hard to know how long they'd been sitting there, but it didn't matter one whit to Peter, so he didn't even bother to twist his head toward the clock or look at his watch. The wind had gradually dissolved into only a vague whistling sound, and very little movement was left. Yet, Shannon continued to cling to him.

Peter was reflecting on the conversation he'd had with Davy yesterday. He'd confided in Davy about Shannon, and his affection for her. Davy had already known, of course, but it was always best, Peter figured, to consult someone who had experience with the subjects you had questions about. So he'd asked Davy how he should talk with Shannon. Davy had looked bemused and a little bewildered.

"Aren't you overcomplicating things, Peter?" had been his response.

"No, I don't think so."

"Yes, you are. You speak to a woman just like you speak to anyone else-honestly."

It was, according to Davy, simple. Elementary.

"Just tell her how you feel, mate. You won't go too far wrong that way."

Peter had tried to explain their friendship to Davy. How they had things in common, loved to have long talks together, and that Peter thought a lot of the friendship.

"Then how is that a problem?" Davy got a little flustered at this point.

"How do I tell her… how I feel, without… repelling her?"

"Repelling her? I doubt that'll happen. She wouldn't have you over so much if you repelled her," Davy was fighting back a smile. Peter was being overly analytical, and Davy found it mildly amusing.

"What I mean is, I want her to know how much the friendship means to me. How much I cherish it."

"There you are! You just said it yourself, Pete. Tell her just like you told me—'I cherish our friendship.' But…I get the feeling there's more. There_ is_ more, isn't there, Pete?"

Davy was staring at him, and Peter crumpled a touch under Davy's intense scrutiny. He swore those dark eyes could drill a hole into anything.

"Yeah. It's a bummer, but I don't know how to tell her… I feel more…"

"I knew you two were tight," observed Davy. "I think you're both fighting it though, and Shannon more than you."

"So you think she feels something for me?" Peter had been petrified of saying those words.

"Quite possibly. I won't say _definitely,_ but, like I said, she's spending too much time with you."

"But people do spend a lot of time with friends."

"Yeah, Pete, but I saw how she acted around you when we were inside her house. Women send out signals, and guys don't always pick them up. But I'm pretty sure I saw her looking at you in a way that said she wants to be more than friends. It's a kinda dreamy-type, glazed over look they get—I can't explain it, but once you've observed it, you don't forget it."

So, right now, Davy's words were echoing in his ears, "Cherish the friendship." It might seem easy for Davy, as he was intrepid. As for Peter, he was not.

Shannon stirred, then shifted, her side getting sore from being twisted to fit snugly against Peter's chest. She didn't want to sit up though, because then she wouldn't have a reason to grab onto him again, and it might feel awkward too, at this point. He was disarmingly innocent, and instead of deterring her, it only seemed to turn her on more_. That's exactly what he was doing, whether he knew it or not Disarming her. Damn him!_ She wished he'd make a move, but at the same time, she didn't want him to, as she was afraid of losing the close, sweet, relaxed friendship they had.

"When Daddy called tonight, he said I should call you if I got scared," she said.

"He did?" Peter's heart soared. That meant more to him than he could articulate, so he just said, "That means a lot."

"Yes, it made me feel good too. I guess he likes you. He isn't usually crazy about guys I've dated."

Geisha stuck her head out from under the coffee table, looked around with notable hesitation, then went to the loft, jumping up onto Shannon's bed and curling into a ball.

"She's not afraid anymore," said Shannon. "She was hiding under the bed earlier."

"I know," said Peter, remembering the scratches in his shoulder. But no way was he going to tell Shannon about it now, because then she'd take her head off his chest, leave his arms, and insist on looking at his shoulder.

"I'm going to have to make her a little bed or something," said Peter. "Something Geisha can squeeze into when she's scared, for the future."

"Peter, that's so sweet! Oh, my dad did say the winds are supposed to stay through tomorrow night. I hope it won't be as bad as tonight."

"If you are the slightest bit uneasy, I want you to call me," he said this firmly. "I mean it. I'll make Geisha a box tomorrow, after practice. It'll be done by tomorrow night."

Aha! He'd just found an excuse to come over tomorrow night! He felt very clever right now. He wouldn't have to wait, and hope she called—he'd already be there.

Just as he had that thought, the wind started to howl again. Shannon's arms around his waist tightened again.

"Oh boy," she said. "Here we go again. What time is it?"

Peter looked at his watch. "Eight."

"Already? It's been windy over two hours now. I'm not sure exactly when it started."

"I came over at six, so yeah, it's been at least two hours."

"Did you eat dinner, Peter?"

"Yeah, about five-thirty Micky brought some hamburgers home. I had just gotten done eating when you called. Did you eat?"

"No. But I have leftover chicken from last night in the fridge. You want some?"

"No, I'm still full. But I'll sit with you while you eat. Then you can tell me when you want me to split."

Shannon smiled. "And what if I_ don't_ tell you to split?"

"Then I won't split." Peter smiled. Somehow this bantering seemed to be getting easier, lighter and more carefree. More natural, and that was his aim, for them to always be comfortable with each other.

"You know," said Shannon as she brought two pieces of cold chicken in the living room to eat on the couch beside him. "If this wind keeps up, you just might have to stay the night." She smiled and looked at him sideways, gauging his reaction. A smile tickled the corners of her lips.

_Is she testing me to see what I'll say, or is she serious? Is she merely flirting?_

"You're the boss," he teased back. "And your couch is comfortable. I don't mind crashing here a bit. Are you serious though? Because if you are, I need to go to the Pad and get a change of clothes, my pajamas and my toothbrush." Peter was still somewhat in shock that she'd asked him, and hoped he wasn't setting himself up to look like a fool if she had just been kidding.

"Okay, how long will you be?"

"No more than fifteen minutes. You can go with me if the wind will bother you while I'm gone."

"Uh… no. It would be very embarrassing to go over there with you to get your toothbrush and pajamas, seeing as how I haven't even met Micky and Mike yet."

Peter thought about it. "You're right. A little bit awkward. I'll hurry though."

"The reason I asked how long you'd be gone is, I'll have bowls of ice cream ready for us when you get back. You like chocolate chip?"

"Hell yeah, I mean, heck yeah."

"Peter, don't censor yourself. I won't melt if you use the word hell!" she laughed.

"I only have fifteen minutes," Peter said quietly to Davy when he got to the Pad. "But I want to talk to you."

"Okay, let's go in our room."

Mike and Micky's eyes tracked them as they climbed the steps. "Wonder what's up?" said Micky.

"Considering the fact that Peter's spending the night with Shannon, he probably needs advice from our resident Casanova," said Mike, in his dry way.

Peter was skimming the outskirts of hell right now. He didn't know a woman's code. Was Shannon really meaning he should stay because of her fear of the wind...or… and that's why he needed to talk to Davy.

"David, she said she wants me to spend the night because of the wind. You can really feel the wind in that treehouse, but… could she mean something else too?"

Davy wrinkled his brow and ran his fingers over his love beads in concentration.

"I can't tell you, Peter. I really can't. Not without having been there myself and witnessing all that has passed between you two."

"Nothing, just talking."

"No kissing?"

"No. She flattened herself into me for a long time when the wind was especially bad, wouldn't let go. But no, nothing else. Then she teased me about having to spend the night because she was afraid of the wind. I wasn't even sure if she was serious at first. I suck at reading women, David! I don't know how to act!"

"Don't freak out. Calm down. Common sense here. You know she's serious about you staying because she went along with you splitting to get your pajamas and stuff. That shows she really does want you there overnight."

"Well, how do I go about this? How do I know what to do?" Peter was looking a bit on the panicked side, and Davy felt for him.

"Didn't that older woman, the one who taught you the ropes, teach you that?" he asked Peter.

"Lena? Oh… she just showed me the sexual side, you know… the mechanics. Not how to act, and how to pick up on signals that women send. So I'm still a virgin as far as that goes."

"Yeah… okay. Like I said earlier, be yourself, and be honest. That has to come before anything else. And if something confuses you, or you don't know what to do, it's best to be upfront about it."

"That would be humiliating!"

"Well, babe, I can't be there, coaxing you, telling you what to say and do. You're gonna have to pull some confidence out of your gut somehow. You're gonna have to go it alone."

He was right, of course. Ultimately, Peter knew he had to brave it on his own. Stuffing his toothbrush and change of clothes into an overnight bag, he remembered to pack a regular pair of pajamas, the kind he wore away from home, instead of his usual bunny ones that he wore at the Pad. They might not serve to make the best impression on Shannon. Davy, watching him, nodded his approval.

"Oh, and Peter," he said as Peter made his way toward the bedroom door. "Whatever you do, don't come on to her like a fucking wild animal. When I said to be honest, I didn't mean _literally._ Like physically literally. If she wants you, she'll let you know."

"David, you know I'd never do that!"

"I do know that—you're a gentle son of a bitch, but I just wanted to be sure you don't misinterpret what I said. You do sometimes tend to take things literally."

"Okay, thanks Davy. Thanks a lot. You have no idea…"

"Yeah, yeah," and Davy shoved him out of the bedroom door.

"Good luck," said Micky suggestively, in that cocksure way of his as Peter passed him and Mike as they sat watching TV.

"It's where it's at, Pete," was Mike's contribution. It was his tactful way of cheering Peter on in his endeavor. Knowing what they were referring to, Peter wished they knew he wasn't going to treat Shannon like just another easy-lay chick. He wasn't taking this lightly. He already knew she wasn't that kind of woman, or he would have been used, abused and then kicked to the curb by now.

As they sat eating the ice cream and listening to the wind, Peter suddenly got the courage to say it. He spat it forth before it died in his mouth, never to be recovered.

"I cherish our friendship," He forced his eyes to meet hers. There was a pause that seemed to last hours. He held his breath.

"Oh Peter," she put her spoon down and kissed him on the cheek. "What a sweet thing to say. And I treasure it as well. I hope you know that."

_This was going tremendously well!_ It still didn't answer Peter's question about if she were thinking about any other reason for him spending the night, but it truly didn't matter. He felt honored just to know she wanted him as a friend.

A little later she touched his cheek with her fingertips. "I see you're growing some mean sideburns." He thought he'd die of embarrassment. "I like them, they're sexy." She realized she'd better change the subject before he vanished into the couch from embarrassment.

"Can we talk… about our pasts?" asked Shannon. For once, she was as guarded as Peter was when bringing up certain subjects. But it had to be done. She needed to learn as much about him as she could. The whole _why _of it being so important to her though, was still unclear, even to herself.

"Okay," Peter was on alert, mindful that he should be careful about what he said, yet also remembering Davy's advice on being honest. That was another problem—just _how _honest was he supposed to be?

"Would you like me to ask you questions, and afterward you do the same?" she said, finishing up her ice cream and setting the bowl on the coffee table, noticing his bowl was already there. She didn't even remember seeing him eat it. Was she _that _distracted? That concerned about planning the evening that she hadn't seen him devouring the huge bowl of ice cream she'd given him? Again, his table manners must have been pretty good, as his napkin was folded neatly in the bowl, and not a single drop of ice cream adorned his shirt or his face.

"Do you want more?" she indicated his bowl. "No, I'm good. And yeah, maybe you should ask me the questions first, so I have an idea what I should be asking you." _Honesty_—he was really trying.

"Okay, well… what exciting things have you done?"

"Oh, run of the mill things. Being chased by vampires, werewolves, monsters, having shoot-outs, stealing art, being submitted to the Chinese ice torture, a run-in with a really nasty motorcycle gang, dressing up like a Mexican bandit to save my skin, flying around the city in a Monkee Man suit—that kind of thing." He really didn't want to mention all the stuff that had gone on in the laundromat. That would lead to April, and that had been embarrassing, a total disaster, and he'd been rejected in the end. "There's lot more, but there were about fifty-eight different episodes of adventures."

Shannon leaned over at the waist and laughed. "I can't compete with that." What a delightful imagination he had, what a zest for story telling!

"Okay, what do you guys do for fun?"

"Mostly try to get ourselves out of trouble," Peter sometimes wished his life weren't quite as dramatic. "I had an overdue library book once, and you wouldn't believe the trouble _that _caused."

Shannon knew he was trying to entertain her, and it was amazing the kinds of things he came up with, right off the top of his head. But was he trying to avoid the inevitable? She wondered if he knew what she was leading up to.

"What about women?"

Oh boy… he'd been silently willing her not to ask. But now she had, and…he reminded himself again- honesty.

"I had a date with a girl named Valerie once that actually went pretty well, and a really weird sort of experience with a girl named April, and besides that, well, a few_ casual_ encounters that left me feeling shallow and hollow."

He'd kept a straight face. Was he being funny again? Sometimes he appeared to be so serious when he was reciting something so off-the-wall.

"Shallow and hollow?"

"Yeah. I never really dated that much. Wasn't my bag. Never even went steady. There was someone… well, that's kind of personal."

Now she was really curious. "Well, if we're going to swap stories about our pasts, we can't hold things back," Shannon wished she hadn't said that. It would mean she herself would have to abide by the rules. But she was so caught up in this "personal" thing that she was willing to face the inquisition when her turn came just to find out the details.

"Well, there was this lady… who lived down the street… older than me… who…"

Well, she could pretty much guess the story, or at least had a good idea, but she wanted to hear him say it, wondering how he'd word it.

"Yes?"

"And she saw that I was shy with girls, and… well… she … I guess you could say she seduced me. I was sixteen." Peter was looking at his hands, examining each finger as if he'd never seen them before. "And the other… experiences… were nothing to… write home about. Shallow and hollow," he repeated those words again. "I didn't feel anything."

Amazingly, Peter's past sounded a lot like hers, except she suspected she'd had quite a few more partners. She wished with all of her heart that she could have seen Peter being seduced by the older woman. Just the thought made her breathless. What a lucky woman!

"Was it a good experience? The one with the older woman?"

"Yeah… she taught me… what to do…but not... what to say and how to act. Know what I mean?" he looked up at her then, his eyes dark and intense in the soft light, looking into her eyes, and then darting away in turns.

He was making a plea. She could see that clearly. Pleading with her to be understanding of his plight. He was afraid, unsure, putting his pride on the line by confiding in her.

"Yes, I think I do."

"I mean… someday… when I do find someone…well, I just feel so clumsy, and that's why I hardly ever date. Because women make me nervous, I don't know how to approach them, and I always seem to do or say the wrong thing." He'd gotten it all out in a nutshell and a rush. He felt pleased with himself, even though his cheeks were red as tomatoes and he was quivering in the pit of his stomach.

"Well, some women don't appreciate the shy men. They overlook them. But I thought you were charming right from the first day."

"But you yelled at me about your property line."

"Yes, but I wasn't blind—I could still see how polite and sincere you were. It didn't take me long to see how special you are."

Peter was helplessly happy, and this was one instance where he was glad to be helpless. Everything seemed right in his world at this moment in time. And no way could he resist a huge smile.

Heavens... it was a good thing Shannon was sitting down, because that dimple and the man it belonged to were almost enough to unravel her…


	13. Chapter 13

Peter watched her attentively, expectantly. "Now, how about you? he asked.

_Oh shit._ She'd been so wrapped up in Peter's life escapades that she'd almost forgotten. Her past… it was her turn now. Peter had done his part, and very eloquently too, he'd even infused some amusement- but now it was her turn. That was the deal… and she couldn't get out of it.

"Well, as far as adventures go… I've been bold a few times and wore things like dresses that were way too tight and short in nightclubs, and I've taken a few laps around the neighborhood on my broomstick." She'd mentioned the latter, hoping to smooth over the former. But Peter was paying rapt to her former statement only.

"What happened when you dressed like that?"

"I'm not proud of it, but I ended up with the wrong kind of guy a few times. Like you, I felt like a whole lot was missing afterward. No one was really special, unique, or even stood out to me in any way. It made me feel all men were the same. So I lost interest in men after a while, and to compound that, I've got a thing about losing people in general, so men have a taken a back seat in my life for some time now."

Peter nodded. "I know the feeling. You're expecting something, and then… you realize you can't make yourself feel it."

"Exactly! In my case, the men were often so… self-absorbed. I felt like what I had to say wasn't of importance. They were always wanting to talk about their achievements, and I knew most of it was made up, to impress me, or whatever, doing that macho bragging bullshit thing that I could see right through." She was trying not to sound bitter, but it's ugly presence was creeping out anyway.

"It made me feel like I'd never meet anyone I had anything in common with, or could even have a decent conversation with."

"What was it some famous writer said? Something about love is friendship caught on fire, or a friendship spark that has turned into a flame… something like that." Peter had no idea why he'd opened his big mouth and just said that. "Well," he said quickly, so she wouldn't think he was hinting at romance, "That has never once happened to me."

"Ditto. Sometimes I honestly wonder if it's just a poet's way of trying to make something romantic out of something that usually isn't."

"God, I hope not. Like I said once before, I believe in love." Peter felt like stuffing cotton, or better, cement, in his mouth. He just _knew _he was going to blow it if he kept saying these corny things. Even to his own ears, it sounded presumptuous, like a very unsubtle hint, and he didn't want her to get that impression. He was _not_ like that. He knew never to assume anything—with special emphasis on girls.

Shannon supposed she must have been somehow sliding closer to Peter by tiny increments, as she kept finding herself an inch closer, then another inch, and pretty soon their thighs were touching most of the time. He was a damn magnet as far as she was concerned. She _craved _that feeling of his closeness, always wanting to touch him. He didn't even seem to notice, but really, how could he _not?_ She was practically in his lap. In retrospect, she'd noticed how hands-on the guys had been with each other when she'd watched the gig that night, weeks ago. They weren't a bit shy about touching each other, both when performing and on break. Always laying a hand on an arm, or resting a forearm on someone's shoulder. So perhaps that explained it. He was just accustomed to physical contact. She'd thought it was nice to see guys so at ease with each other.

Had she moved closer, or was that his overactive imagination? He couldn't be sure of much anymore, as wishful thinking liked to edge it's way in. He mustn't assume. He did know one thing—the contact felt good, almost too good. He was afraid of something happening to him physically, so he kept talking, hoping to distract himself. These band pants left_ nothing_ to the imagination. He knew, because he'd seen the evidence on the other guys when they had these pants on. He'd also looked at himself in the mirror, and seen that no degree of sexual excitement could be camouflaged. The other guys, with the exception of Michael, were envious of his size. _Big Peter. _They liked to call him that sometimes. But it did have it's disadvantages. He didn't like it when girls' eyes went to his crotch before they even looked at his face. He saw them doing it when he was onstage too. He knew how girls with big boobs must feel.

Peter scrunched his left shoulder uncomfortably. The cat scratches were burning again.

"What's wrong?" asked Shannon.

"Um, Geisha kind of took off during one of the wind gusts and used me as a launching pad."

"What? When did that happen?"

"When your head was on my chest."

"Well, we'll just have to take a look at that."

Shannon jumped up, ran a washcloth under warm water in the bathroom, grabbed a towel and came back, only to begin unbuttoning Peter's shirt. Here he'd practiced pretty damn good control all night, and now she was going to get him half naked again! How was he to appear unaffected? This charade couldn't last forever. Sooner or later he was going to blow it one way or another. He wouldn't come on to her like a "fucking wild animal," as Davy had so eloquently it, but she was still in danger of seeing something shocking, and then, who knew what she might do? There were several possibilities. She might laugh it off, get angry with him, tell him to act civilized, or worst of all, tell him to go home. He hoped to God Shannon understood that men sometimes couldn't control their bodies' reactions.

"Oh, Peter. I wish you'd said something earlier," said Shannon when she spied the scratches. There's four good ones. Geisha really dug in." She was on the couch, straddling his legs, on her knees, facing him, dabbing at the scratches with the washcloth, and cooing over him as if he were a child with a scraped knee. And just as he knew it would, his cock began to harden.

Thank God she wasn't sitting all the way down on his legs, but was supporting herself with her knees; but still, her proximity was too much. It was way too easy to imagine her sitting all the way down in his lap, kissing him, face to face. That idea was too sexually stimulating to ignore. Good thing she was concentrating on his shoulder, and not looking down.

After she'd doctored his scratches, he got up and walked around, hoping to divert his attention enough to trick his hard-on into vanishing. He stopped at her bed, curious. While she was rinsing the ice cream dishes in the kitchen, he reached up and gently pressed on the mattress to check it's firmness, or lack of. It felt pretty good. She came back just then and caught him.

"You can try it out if you want—it's really comfortable," she said this so easily that he took her up on it. What was the harm, anyway? He climbed up the ladder and laid back on the bed. It was perfect—not too hard and not too soft. He almost felt like Papa Bear in the fairy tale, and he giggled to himself. When she asked why, he told her.

"Peter, you are never predictable," she laughed. "I never know what you might say."

On an impulse, she climbed the ladder and lay down beside him. Peter was almost alarmed. This was the last thing he'd ever thought she'd do. But… she was showing her trust in him once again. They lay there, side by side, staring up at the ceiling, where Shannon had stuck tiny, sparkly stars so it would look like the sky. It was more realistic than one would have thought.

Peter commented on it, "I love all the little special touches you've sprinkled around your house. It tells me more about you all the time. All good stuff, of course."

"Thank you. I've always wanted to sleep outside, hence the stars, but I'm chicken to sleep on the deck, living alone like I do. So this is the next best thing. Fake stars over my head," she giggled.

The wind was picking up again, but not to the degree it was earlier. Still, they felt a bit of motion, and Geisha had crawled right under the covers at the foot of the bed, feeling safer there. Shannon and Peter, of course, remained on top. It was June, and fairly warm even this time of night. Shannon had left the sliding glass door partially open, and they felt a kiss of a breeze, since the wind wasn't blowing directly into the house, but on a slight angle, shaving the harshness off the wind. It was just enough to feel refreshing.

"Nothing like a warm, summer night's breeze," said Peter.

There was a comfortable silence, then they turned their heads at the same time to smile at each other.

"Your place… and you too… always make me feel… serene, I guess. Listening to your wind chimes outside and just the slight tinkling of the ones inside is relaxing. When I come over here, I feel I'm in another world."

"I sure hope the outside chimes don't decide to blow away."

"I don't think so. The wind just feels worse than it really is because we're up in a tree. Right now it's probably only blowing about thirty-five miles an hour. Much better than a while ago."

"I like this… very much. Will you sleep here with me instead of on the couch?"

Peter stopped breathing. He tried to formulate a coherent thought, to no avail. All logic deserted him in an instant. There was a strange thundering in his head. He isolated it—yes, it was his heart, pumping his blood forcefully, and it sounded like his bass… rich, deep, unrelenting. But the tempo was much, much faster. Frantic, even.

This moment wasn't tangible mentally nor physically. It had to be an illusion. Reality wasn't something that could be easily seized right now. His throat caught, and the chance of saying something rational wasn't within reach.

"Peter?" She wasn't sure what he might be thinking or feeling. An alert at the back of her brain hinted that just maybe he hadn't been prepared for such a statement. She had to admit that it had come from nowhere. How would she feel in the same situation? She tried to put herself in his shoes, but that was almost laughable. They were different sexes. A man would certainly feel entirely different about her question than a woman would. It disturbed her that she had no idea what he might be thinking. She did have an idea what the _average_ man would think, but Peter was not, of all things, your average man.

Peter was, in fact, overcome. Too overcome to even feel flattered. Desperately, he tried to think of something to say, almost choking himself on the adrenaline coursing through him. It felt like a damn tidal wave.

At last, he was able to force a few words out. "We could drag your couch out on the deck, and you can have your dream of sleeping under the stars tonight, if you want… I'd protect you," he congratulated himself inwardly on managing to get his vocal chords moving.

"Oh Peter…" she rolled over from her back to her side, within inches of him as he lay on his back. She reached up and brushed the hair out of his right eye, then, not being able to refrain, burrowed her hands into his thick, luxurious hair. Something she'd been yearning to do for way too long. "Sorry, I just couldn't seem to endure another moment without burying my fingers in your hair," she said.

Peter caught one of her wavy strawberry blonde curls and let it sift between his fingers. "I've thought a lot about feeling your hair too."

Their eyes were locked, the low light making everything seem romantic and a bit surreal. The reflections from the assortment of beads and bright balls hung from the ceiling mirrored in their eyes, making this seem like a dream.

"Can we really sleep out on the deck?" she asked.

_So, she really was serious._ _She really did want him to spend the night._

"Of course," he said quickly, before he lost his power of speech again. "We could push the couch out, or maybe the mattress. I'm not sure which would be easier. But… if the wind gets bad again…" He was sorry he'd said it, because her eyes showed her disappointment immediately.

"It's supposed to be windy again through tomorrow, according to my dad. And being out on the deck might feel worse than it does in here, right?" Peter nodded reluctantly. He wanted to make her happy, but not at the expense of horrifying her.

"Well, even if we have to wait for another night, we'll have fun doing it!" Her eyes danced with anticipation. "I can't remember a time in my life when I haven't had an urge to sleep outside."

Peter thought he might die of the enjoyment he was getting out of this unexpected fortune, this bounty of pleasure he felt at the mere idea of spending the entire night with her. And the promise of another night had been strongly suggested in what she'd just said. He thought he just might burst.

"Wanna watch TV or something?" she asked, propped up on her elbow and smiling down at him.

"Anything's fine with me, as long as I'm with you." He'd just made himself proud again. He was getting a lot better at saying the right things to her. He could tell by the look on her face that she was digging it.

Next, she began rubbing his face, gently scratching at his beard stubble with her fingertips.

"Oh sh… I mean, damn, I forgot my razor. Should scrape that off," he said.

"No… no. I'm glad you forgot your razor." Now she looked like an imp with a plan. "I like it—the roughness." She rubbed her cheek against it, glorying in the raspy way it sounded and felt.

"You do? Why?" Peter looked perplexed.

"Its… attractive," she said, instead of saying what she wanted to. _That it was sexy._ When she'd commented on his sideburns that he was growing, she'd said the word sexy and she'd thought he was surely going to die from embarrassment.

She wanted so badly to just lean down and kiss his lips. She was fighting herself tooth and nail not to do it. It wouldn't be good in more than one way. It would change things between them instantly, and as a result she might eventually lose him as a friend. Lovers didn't often remain friends after a break-up. Not only that, but she had never had that special feeling for a man, and was afraid of it happening yet again- that nagging disappointment. Peter was just too dear to her to have that happen. She'd rather fantasize about something special than "go for it" just to have it flop like all the others had. Besides all that, she didn't know how he felt. What they had was rare, and trying to push it to something even better seemed somehow unnatural.

The wind whipped up again, causing the tree to make a horrible groaning sound, the wind chimes to clank with a startling clarity, and that weird whistling, howling noise to escalate. Shannon found herself where she always felt safest—her head on Peter's chest, her arms around his torso.

"It's alright. I've gotcha," he used a light, teasing tone that seemed to calm her. "I'll also protect you from the boogey-man tonight," he added with a dimpled smile.

She wanted to tell him about the feelings that were warring inside her. Of never wanting to lose his friendship, yet wanting to give in to her desire—the way a woman wants a man, with a fierce need. An affectionate need. A primal need. She wished for all of those things. But she should be so lucky…

They took turns changing into their pajamas in the bathroom, then lay down together in the same position they'd been in. They talked long into the night. He wasn't afraid to touch her now. He feathered his fingers over her cheek and just quietly stared at her. She supposed he thought that was safe since she'd done it to him. Otherwise, she got the feeling he'd never do it on his own. At every turn, he was afraid of offending her. Most of that time she was in his arms; she never left them even when the wind died down. They finally caught a few hours' sleep when it was close to dawn. Peter couldn't get over how natural it felt for him to sleep with her.

Sometime after they'd fallen asleep, Shannon had slipped between the sheets, and held them up for Peter, tugging him in after her. Peter could feel Geisha's soft, warm feline body at his feet, and with Shannon in his arms he slept those three or four hours soundly, but experienced dreams that featured him kissing her, holding her close, caressing her, hour after hour. Even in his dreams, he was aware he didn't want to wake up because he'd have to bid those dreams farewell.

He finally woke up though, to a very awkward situation. He had one of those morning hard-ons that Davy so abhorred. He hadn't asked Davy how to handle _this_ dilemma! On second thought, Davy had probably never spent the night in bed with a female without having sex. So for Davy, the situation wouldn't be humiliating. When he opened his eyes, she was looking right at him, eyes squinty, hair sticking out every which way, looking cute as a red haired lynx. He just smiled back, appreciating her loveliness, her natural beauty.

Shannon was admiring him as well, noting his eyes were amber in the morning light when she dragged her gaze away to look at her watch. "Peter! It's ten! Practice! Hurry, you have to get out of bed! I'll make you some coffee, then you need to get back to the Pad!"

How in hell was he going to get out of bed, with her right there? You can't hide a huge erection in pajamas. It was impossible to miss.

"Okay, well, you go get the coffee and I'll get up and get dressed," he suggested. Didn't work. She just stayed where she was. "Climb over me," she said, since she was on the outside. He panicked from within. If he were to do that, she'd not only see it, but she'd feel it too!

"I can't," he said lamely.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," he couldn't think of a single way to get out of it. Right then she knew she had to admit it to herself. She wanted the extra body contact, even if it was through pajamas. Peter was making her crazy, out of her head with desire. Something would have to be done about this. She was becoming irrational. Asking him to climb over her just to feel his body slide over hers! Reprehensible! Underhanded too.

Peter was still struggling with the "why not" part. "Just give me a minute," he murmured, his voice almost a whimper.

"Why? You're running late. Mike'll be mad!"

"Shannon! Give me a minute!" Peter was now highly anxious. She'd think he was a scoundrel of the lowest order if she saw the state he was in physically. But as long as they stayed this close, practically touching, he feared the erection wasn't going to deflate. He knew his own body—it could be insistent.

Okay, maybe he had it figured out. He'd climb over her without touching his lower body to her, and then go down the steps to the floor, facing away from her. That just might work.

"Okay, here I go," he braced his arm on the opposite side of her, lifting his lower body much like an inch worm would do, so it wouldn't touch her, and slid across her. He could feel her breasts, warm, soft and full under his chest. That didn't help his situation at all. When he was centered on top of her, his thoughts went into overdrive. _I'm exactly in the right position to… no! Don't think that!_ He grabbed onto the top of the built-in ladder, trying to work his body under himself so he could climb down with his back to her. This was tricky, as the ceiling was only inches above his head as he maneuvered himself. His hands were damp because of his nervousness, and that was what did him in. His hands slipped off the top of the ladder, and down he went—head first. Shannon screamed. His body hit the steps on the way down. Clunk! Luckily, he automatically coiled his body into a ball and went right into a somersault as soon as he hit the floor. He had Davy to thank for that! He'd taught Peter that move in case Peter was ever bucked off a horse, and was going to land on his head. The pain in the back of his neck and upper back weren't pleasant, but it was better than landing on his head. It had also made his erection disappear in record time.

"Shit," he murmured to himself.

"Peter! Peter, are you alright?" Shannon's head appeared over the side of the mattress, her mouth a huge O.

"I'll live," he croaked out.

"Why in the world did you try to go down the steps that way, instead of the way you're supposed to?"

"Thought I'd try to be fancy." Maybe that would satisfy her. "I gotta go, like you said, I'm running late."

Peter had no time to wait for coffee. He accepted the English muffin from her hand with a shy thank you as he scooted out the door. All he'd had time for was to splash his face with water, brush his teeth and comb his hair, As he exited, he said he'd take a shower after practice, then make Geisha's box and bring it over tonight. Shannon shook her head slowly as she watched him head for the street from her kitchen window. She'd seen the curious bulge straining against the sheet when she first woke up. He'd still been slumbering. All that trouble that he gone to, including diving to the floor from her bed, in an effort to hide it from her. What guy would put himself in jeopardy just to protect her from seeing it? Only Peter…

By the time he got back to the Pad, he could barely turn his head, his neck hurt so much. Of course, the others thought he'd made love to Shannon all night, and that was why he was sore. That's when all the teasing started. The relentless teasing. He decided to swallow a couple of aspirins, grin, grimace a bit, and bear it, and on to practice they went, the teasing continuing unabated for the duration.

_How do I handle this? _Peter's passion for Shannon was insane. She was all he thought about. He feared the future. He knew she wanted him as a friend, and he felt the same…but he had to admit there was potential for more on his part. Well… _more _than potential. He wanted a relationship, a romance. He knew he shouldn't even be thinking such things, and the fact that he'd never make a move on her was the only thing that saved him from looking like a court jester. She had touched his cheek, caressed it even. He'd done the same to her. She'd allowed it. She'd laid in his arms, starting out because she was afraid of the wind, but ending up staying, even when he knew she was no longer afraid. She had done it because she'd _wanted_ to. She'd invited him to spend the night with her—in her bed!

But he shouldn't use any of this as a reason to feel a pressing need to rush things. He had her trust, and that was plenty enough for now. He already knew she was wary of men, afraid she'd only get a repeat of the past, that she'd never find the one who felt right, who treated her right. Precisely the same thing he feared. But if they could grow to trust _each other_ enough, he wondered…was there even a tiny speck of a chance?

Something was bound to go wrong. It always did where girls and he were concerned. Sooner or later he would say or do something that would turn Shannon completely off, and she'd give him his walking papers. A memory of a friendship lost, and a romance that never happened…


	14. Chapter 14

Micky, especially, pestered Peter nonstop on the way home from practice. They had finished up early today since everything had gone well. There had been very little in the way of glitches with vocals or the instruments. Their playing had never been better. This rarely happened, so Mike decided to call it a day—end it on a good note, as he liked to say.

"Cool it, Mick. Will you give the poor guy a break?" Mike grumbled in annoyance on the way home. Micky and Davy were still making slightly lewd comments about Peter's night away from home. Mike felt protective toward Peter—knowing this vexing, yet friendly male teasing bothered the blond more than the others. Being a gentle soul was an attribute, but Peter did need to stand up for himself a little more assertively. Young guys could be raucous and a little hardhearted, although the guys never meant it to sound that way. Davy was going easier on Peter though, as he knew Peter was feeling a little off. They had a close connection, and Davy had a feeling things hadn't gone quite like the other two thought they had for Peter and Shannon. He sensed doubt in Peter. A degree of insecurity.

"Pete, we're not serious," said Micky. "Actually, we're happy for you. We just have a weird way of showing it."

As usual, Peter didn't say much. He was tired, sore, and not in the mood for excessive teasing. He had such a mild nature that teasing rubbed against the grain anyway. And his neck had stiffened up—another reason he was even more passive than usual. He still had to make Geisha's box before he went to Shannon's, but he planned on asking for Davy's help, and maybe getting a little more advice while he was at it.

Davy was happy to help, and they worked on a simple wooden box from some wood that Mike had left over from some project he'd finished a few months ago. "Um, we'd better make it a little bigger than that," said Peter as Davy was measuring out fifteen inches. "Maybe twenty inches wide would be better. Remember, she's … a bit overweight."

Davy laughed. "Oh yeah, how could I forget that? A _little_ overweight, right. Yeah, fifteen inches would definitely be too small. So… how did things go last night?"

Peter had known Davy would ask—that his curiosity would eventually win out. It always did. Davy had a way of finding his way into everyone's business in a very stealthy way—so stealthy, in fact, that sometimes you found yourself pouring your heart out to him, and he had hardly uttered a word. It happened to a lot of people, and especially girls. Peter concluded it must be Davy's presence. He had a reassuring way about him that made you want to confide in him. Gentle and understanding. And besides, no secret ever ventured past the quartet. It wouldn't even venture past Davy if Peter requested it. They could all be counted on to keep their mouths shut, but Davy was the one Peter always found himself turning to when something was on his mind.

"Actually, nothing really happened. It was windy, she was scared; she clung to me like a monkey… I swear, I could have gotten up and walked around, and she would have still been hanging off me!" Peter laughed. Not at Shannon, but at the situation.

"Anyway, the wind had her uptight, but it calmed down after a while, and she asked me to stay. At first I thought it was just because of the wind, but I really don't know what to think now, because I assumed I'd be sleeping on the couch, but you know what? She invited me to sleep in her bed with her!"

Davy's expression was one of dumbfounded disbelief. "You're shittin' me!"

"No! I couldn't believe it myself. We talked all night—didn't sleep until dawn, then slept a few hours and then I came home."

"You mean _nothing_ happened?"

"Nope."

"But you kissed, right?"

"Nope. We felt each other's hair, and she felt my five o'clock shadow, I stroked her cheek, and that was it. After that, I held her as we slept."

Davy looked at him in astonishment. "Pete, you didn't even try to seduce her?"

"No. No, I didn't. And I think it's because we're friends, and… I can't speak for her, but I think neither one of us wants anything to change. We're afraid of things changing, is what I mean."

Davy mulled that over. "Yeah… yeah," he said after a minute. "I can see your reasoning. Once you get in a relationship, you're no longer friends, but lovers… or kissers… or whatever you find yourself doing. In any case, the dynamic does change." He had to keep reminding himself how shy Peter was, how he could be very methodical.

"I'm glad you understand, David. I knew you would if I explained it."

"But… but why are you so sore today?"

Peter laughed, then told Davy about the steps to the loft bed.

"Goddamn, Peter! You sure know how to fuck things up!" Davy was practically rolling on the bed as he laughed, holding his stomach.

"Well, nothing was going to happen anyway," said Peter defensively, even though he wasn't mad at Davy. It was just that Peter was proud of himself, and his gentlemanly behavior, and it would have been reassuring if Davy had backed him up on that.

"But really, Pete," Davy said after he was over his laughing fit. "Everything points to her really liking you. A girl doesn't ask just any guy to spend the night in bed with her. You proved to her that she can trust you." Davy then pounded Peter on the back in a gesture of congratulations. Peter felt considerably better after that. He shouldn't have doubted Davy. Davy always came through, and gave credit where it was due.

"So you think I could have done anything differently?"

"Well, a morning hard-on is unfortunately a fact of life, and I can understand you not wanting to flaunt it, although, with your size you probably _should_… but anyway, I'm sure she's seen hard-ons before. She's not a child. Seeing it wouldn't damage her for life or anything like that. You didn't really need to put _that _much effort into hiding it. But no… no, I don't think you should have done anything much differently. Not for you, Peter. A lot of guys would have come on to her, but for your style, it was just right. You're slow moving. You have to go with what you feel is the right pace, as well as what the girl wants. Sounds to me like you're both… feeling pretty much the same way. It's just going to be a slow process."

"Oh, I don't mind that!" Peter felt jubilant. He'd gotten Davy's seal of approval, and that was not easy to achieve. Davy was the master of lovers as far as Peter was concerned.

With Geisha's box now mostly completed, Peter decided to get a few more hours' sleep before he saw Shannon later on.

Shannon's father came over just a matter of minutes after Peter had left. Peter could have gone out the back, and Phil never would have seen him, had Phil arrived a few minutes earlier, but it would have made Shannon feel like a sneak. She reminded herself that she hadn't done anything wrong, after all.

"Just wanted to be sure everything is still intact after the wind," said Phil as he studied the tree branches out the window, went onto the deck, and checked screws and such. "I was going to call you again last night, but was afraid I might wake you," he said. "I figured you'd call though, if you were really frightened. Did you get someone to stay with you?"

"Um, yes. Peter came over for a while. Thanks for suggesting that. It helped a lot." Shannon hated saying _for a while,_ but she certainly wasn't going to tell her father Peter had spent the night. Even though it had been completely innocent… how ironic!

The sound of a diesel engine cut through the air. "Oh, the guy is here to deliver the gasoline for the generator," said Shannon.

"Oh, well, I'll just go keep him company, then I'll be back up." Phil descended the steps, and Shannon watched him from the window, noticing that his step was just a bit slower than it used to be, his reactions not quite as quick. You had to be really observant to see it, but she knew her father in and out, and there was no doubt in her mind that age was just beginning to catch up with him. She didn't want to watch him grow old. But that was a while in coming—he was only in his mid- forties. It was just that she hated the thought of losing him. She said a silent prayer that he would live for a very long time.

When Phil came back up the steps, he was carrying a stereo, with the help of the gas delivery man. It was fairly small, with small speakers, but was unwieldy when going up steps. "I had this thing sitting around, and knew you only have a small radio, so I thought it might as well be put to good use." Shannon smiled as they sat it down and the delivery guy left.

"Thank you, Daddy! That's really nice. I love to listen to music."

"Well, it wasn't doing me any good, so I put it in the car, thinking you might want it." They had some iced tea, and an hour later, Phil left. "And remember, you don't have to worry about winds. You can't even tell there was any wind here last night except for the chairs outside scooting around a bit—even your plants are fine. The railing does a good job stopping things from going over. It'll be windy again tonight, but no worse than last night. Did you feel it a lot?"

"Oh yeah," said Shannon with a smile. "But I got used to it after a while. It just felt so strange at first."

"I bet it did. You can trust your treehouse to keep you safe. It's overbuilt, and that's because my girl is important." Phil kissed her on the cheek, and was gone. Shannon vacuumed and dusted a bit, then retired to her bed for a nap. She was going to need it. After staying up almost all night, her eyes would barely stay open.

The box was just the right size, thought Peter as he and Davy pounded the last nail in. Peter had slept a little longer than he'd planned. There were now just a few rough edges he wanted to sand down.

"Peter! Phone!" Mike's voice carried up the stairs. Davy began sanding as Peter left the room.

It was Shannon. "Come over when you can, Peter. I have some spaghetti and meatballs with salad and bread. Whenever you want to eat, it'll be ready."

"Wow, that sounds really good. I just have to shower, so is about five okay?"

"That'll be fine. Can't wait to see you!"

When Peter hung up the phone, he couldn't have hidden his smile if his life depended on it.

"That smile is almost as big as Texas!" said Mike, allowing his own half-smile to escape. He liked seeing Peter lit up like that. He just hoped that girl wasn't going to hurt him…

"Well, it's gonna be windy again tonight," Peter said to Mike, sounding just this side of smug.

After he'd disappeared up the stairs again, Micky said to Mike, "Why does he have to use the wind as an excuse?"

"Hell if I know, Shotgun. But we both know that Peter is peculiar at times. I think he's just preserving his privacy."

Shannon helped Peter hoist Geisha's bed up the steps. "She's going to love this! Maybe she'll use it tonight when the wind starts," said Shannon, excitement creeping into her voice.

"It's already starting," Peter indicated the breeze with a sweep of his arm in the direction of the branches. The leaves were indeed beginning to flutter.

"Davy sanded it smooth, so there aren't any sharp edges."

"That was really nice of him," Shannon was liking Davy more all the time, even though she hadn't seen him since he'd come to see her house, and then at the gig a day later. Peter took care to say nice things about Davy whenever he had the chance, as he felt that maybe a touch of bitterness lingered, and he wanted it gone.

Shannon located a cushion that fit perfectly inside the box Peter and Davy had made. She swiped it off one of the outside chairs. They put it under Shannon's loft bed, and Geisha was soon checking it out, sniffing it all over, and after about half an hour, they found her curled up inside it. She was purring and her eyes were slanted and sleepy.

"I bet the wind hardly bothers her tonight," said Peter as they sat down at the table to eat.

"Thank you for her bed, Peter."

"Thank you for dinner! When Mike makes spaghetti, it's all stuck together in clumps. Really groady. So this is a real treat."

Shannon imagined the spaghetti clumped together, the boys trying to choke it down, and tried not to laugh for fear that, with her luck, she wouldn't be able to stop, and spaghetti sauce would come out her nose or something equally mortifying.

"So are you guys still running every morning before practice?" she asked.

"Yeah, but David is running on the beach and other routes again, now that his curiosity is satisfied about the treehouse. I still go with him—I can almost keep up now!" Peter was proud with how far he'd come in the last few weeks. His thighs showed it too, thought Shannon with a twist of a yearning. They were always nicely shaped, but now they also had muscle. In fact, his whole body looked even better than when she'd first met him.

There was a faint, plaintive meow coming from the area of the sliding glass door. Their heads turned in unison, to see a petite cat on the deck, looking in curiously.

"Oh, there's the black and white one," said Shannon. "He's my favorite, and Geisha's too." She opened the door, and the cat strutted in like he owned the place. He was small, so Shannon had assumed he was not yet quite full grown. Geisha walked up to him and began licking the top of his head. "He's the only one she likes. She hisses at the others."

"Does this mean you have another cat?" Peter raised his eyebrows slightly.

"I've thought about it. He does belong to Mrs. Becker—I know that, but he can be my part-time cat. I've been calling him Jack," she sliced a guilty glance at Peter.

"You've named him, so yep… he's yours," and Peter chuckled.

"You don't think Mrs. Becker would mind, do you?" Shannon was worried.

"Nah, of course not. He can still be her cat too. What does it matter if you let him into your home too? He comes over here anyway. It's really no different than it was before. I'll tell you one thing though; that's a lucky cat, having two fantastic owners. " Peter had a way of removing her doubts and putting her at ease where just about anything was concerned.

"How is work?" Peter asked after swallowing a mouthful of delicious, spicy meatball.

"Oh, same as usual. Carol is being impossible, and I really do need to invite Gretchen over—she hasn't even seen my place yet." Peter knew about Carol and Gretchen, as Shannon had told him all about work last night during their long hours of conversation.

"Yeah, I haven't met Gretchen. She sounds like a good friend. And you also need to meet Mike and Micky. You know…" Peter looked thoughtful, yet a bit hesitant at the same time.

"What is it, Peter?" she could see his lack of confidence, even though he clearly had an idea he wanted to bring up.

"We could do it all this coming weekend… if you want to. You could invite Gretchen over to see your house, then, you two could do whatever, then maybe… come to our gig on Saturday night?" Peter felt he was walking on a tight rope right now. He had no idea what she'd think of his idea.

"And Gretchen could meet Davy, because she _still _won't shut up about him since that day he came into the store, and, like you said, I could meet Micky and Mike! And maybe see the Pad too?" She hoped she hadn't gone too far in mentioning the Pad.

"There ya go!" Peter breathed a sigh of relief. A gust of wind hit the house and it rattled a bit underneath them.

"Well, here we go again," Shannon wasn't nearly as dubious about the wind tonight, now that she knew what to expect.

"My dad came over today, in fact, about five minutes after you left."

"Oh boy…"

"Oh, he didn't see you leave. He drove up after you'd already gone. He checked out the house to be sure nothing got damaged in the wind, and he said everything was in top shape. He wondered if I asked anyone to come over."

"What'd you say?" Peter was all ears, alert and expectant to hear what she'd said to her father.

"Oh, I told him you were over for a while."

Peter smiled. "Good wording." He wiped his mouth with his napkin and rubbed his tummy with his palm. "Wow, that was good. All of it. Your meatballs are to die for."

"Why, thank you!" Shannon gathered the dishes and they took them to the sink together. After the dishes were done, Peter made a slight hissing sound to Shannon, sounding like a spy. "Come here, Shannon, look," he whispered. He pointed under her bed, and there were Geisha and Jack, squeezed together in the box Peter had made. Shannon's heart contracted. Okay, that was it…officially. Jack was now her part-time cat.

"We need to visit Mrs. Becker again and see how she's doing. I don't even know if she has any family. I can also ask her if it's okay if I share ownership of Jack with her."

Peter smiled. "Whenever you want to, just say the word."

A minute later, "It's not as windy as last night," observed Peter.

"I noticed. Are you hinting at something?"

"Um… no," Peter didn't think she'd try to trap him with wordplay, but he was wary nevertheless. Living with three witty guys had made him that way.

"I meant hinting about sleeping out on the deck because it's not as windy tonight."

"Oh! Sure… I just wasn't sure of what you were getting at."

"Peter stop being so cautious. You can be yourself with me. I was hoping you'd know that by now," Shannon looked a little hurt, and Peter realized he really needed to start having faith in her not to hurt him.

"I'm sorry. It's just that… some girls I knew in school when I was young gave me a hard time because they knew how… socially inhibited I could be, and still am, with girls. Once one of them called me a candy ass. Maybe I just need to relax and hang loose, more like I am with the guys, I don't know." Peter dipped his head, not able to make eye contact. He didn't want her to see the degree of the bone chilling fear he was up against, trying to make a good impression on her, terrified she would cast him aside.

"That was school, and you know how kids can be brutal. There are always bullies, and a lot of them are girls. And you are by no means a candy ass!" She laughed at the absurdity of it, making his courage ascend like a fledgling bird learning to use it's wings. He needed confidence, and she was well on her way to gifting it to him. Well, not really. She was just helping him to realize it had been there all along. "And I did already tell you that you need to relax and mellow out around females."

Shannon started to grab an end of the couch. "Let's get this thing out on the deck," she said, determined to get his mind off his self- consciousness.

"Won't that be a tight fit?" asked Peter._ Did he mean to get it through the sliding glass door, or for both of them to fit on it?_

"I guess we'll find out," she left it at that. Right now wouldn't be the best time for some good natured ribbing, as she could tell he still had a few raw spots from his boyhood bullying trauma. She liked it this way anyway. Peter was unlike any other, and she found it comforting that he didn't have an out of control ego—something she was so weary of, and the reason she'd stopped dating.

"Let's give it a go, as Davy would say," said Peter as he went to the other end of the couch. They began sliding it across the carpet. They turned it sideways when they got to the door, and slid it out onto the deck without too much trouble.

"If it gets too windy, you and I can just go back inside and sleep on the bed," Peter looked pleased, then Shannon noticed he was discreetly massaging the back of his neck.

"I was going to ask you how you felt after your fall this morning, but I think I already know," she said. "Sore."

What she was referring to didn't register with Peter right away. He was doing just a little bit of fantasizing about sleeping out here on the deck with her on the couch tonight. Then she touched the back of his neck, gently caressing. He was so enamoured with her that for a second there he'd forgotten all about the fall. The rubbing of his neck had been subconscious, as had been the pain. But the pleasure of her touch was far from lost on him.

"Oh, that," his face heated. "I'm a little sore from the somersault, and my side, where I hit the ladder on the way down."

"You're so lucky—you could have easily broken your neck. Let me see your side," Shannon lifted his shirt and he gasped right out loud. He hadn't been able to help himself.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No…I just… wasn't expecting it, I guess."

Shannon secretly wondered if he'd felt that same little thrill that she had when she'd raised his shirt. Seems he had. She liked it. It made her feel like playing flirting games with him, just to get his response. She already knew what her response was—excitement of the best kind. When he'd gasped, it had set her body to tingling all over.

"Oh Peter, you're getting a big bruise there," she pointed to his lower rib area where he wouldn't be able to see if he simply looked into a mirror.

"Let's rub some Ben Gay on it so you'll smell like a little old lady," her eyes twinkled as she grabbed his sleeve and dragged him to a cabinet to get the cream. "And while we're at it, I want to look at those scratches Geisha gave you too," she said, hauling him back out onto the deck and plunking him back down on the couch.

I don't wanna smell like an old lady! I put on Hai Karate!"

"I know, and I need to mask it because it's driving me wild, hence the Ben Gay," she said. She'd been half-pretending at teasing, but in truth, the Hai Karate and Peter combined were enough to make her pounce on him like a hungry wild cat. "I have some other cream that doesn't smell like Ben Gay, but this is for your protection… against me," she smiled, and caught his gaze for a second before he looked away shyly.

"I feel like I'm in a hospital, but I don't mind _this _kind of hospital at all!" Peter was getting better at this bantering all the time. He'd recovered quickly this time. It made Shannon happy because it meant that possibly, before long, perhaps all traces of timidity in her presence just might dissipate. That was what she was aiming for.

Her cool hands on his side, rubbing in the cream felt like some kind of paradise. It was in the eighties today—perfect beach weather, and that reminded him that in a few days, Shannon would be seeing the Pad for the first time. If the Pad didn't scare her away, _nothing _would. He decided he'd have to give her a pre-warning later. Right now, he just wanted to bask in her ministrations.

"How come it doesn't stink?" he asked.

"The cream? Oh, I was just teasing. I'm using the non-scented kind."

"Good," Peter wasn't crazy about the idea of smelling menthol all night long.

The dappled shade from a neighboring tree and the tree they were suspended in was just enough to make it the perfect temperature where they sat. Peter tried hard not to think of what Shannon's hands would be like on his body if, by some miracle, they were ever to make love. It was beginning to cause a visceral reaction right now, just pondering it. If he ever got that opportunity in his lifetime, he'd make damn sure he didn't blow it. He hadn't worn band pants today, but all his pants were pretty snug fitting. He was hoping any indiscretion wouldn't be as obvious in jeans. And with the way her hands felt now, he was guaranteed an erection within minutes. _Remember what Davy said—don't worry so much about it._ But it still seemed like a show of disrespect to Shannon, as ridiculous as it sounded.

"I think that's enough," he said, bolting up off the couch.

"I still have to look at your scratches though," Shannon was bewildered. He sure was acting flighty.

"No, they're fine. I took a shower at home, remember? They looked fine to me." _What was up with him?_ He'd seemed so willing to get close to her last night. What had spooked him?

"Peter, is something bothering you?"

Peter was sick of making up silly excuses, telling white lies. For a moment he wondered if he shouldn't just tell her the truth and be done with it. Instead of another half-truth that felt dishonest to him.

"Oh, well… it's just a guy thing."

"It's a guy thing? What's a guy thing?"

"Me acting strange."

"You almost seem like you want to get away from me, and last night you weren't like this at all."

Peter gulped and shoved his courage forward with a mighty thrust.

"Well… last night we were in bed, and it was dark, or mostly dark. Now we're not in bed, and it's daylight." He couldn't bring himself to say any more. If she couldn't figure it out, which she probably wouldn't, then he didn't have a ghost of a chance of explaining it to her without being terribly blunt.

He was afraid to look at her, but he dared to hope she had _some_ idea of what he was speaking, as she was silent for a few seconds.

"You're a man, Peter," and she left it at that. If she'd said any more, she feared he would freeze with disquietude.

So she_ did_ understand. Or so it sure seemed that way. He almost wished he hadn't said anything, but Shannon was being so discreet, so tactful that he didn't feel threatened or in danger of losing her respect. In relief, he sighed long and deep, but did it quietly enough to be sure she didn't hear.

As they sat on the couch on the deck, cold beers in their hands, Peter said, "I feel kinda Like Tarzan."

"And I feel kinda like Jane," Shannon returned, looking up at him through her lashes, then back down, a classic flirting move that had been around since ancient times. A type of body language that a man instinctively understood.

_She did understand, and she didn't think he was a brute because of it. Peter smiled, sat back, and ran his arm along the back of the couch behind Shannon, luxuriating in some very good vibrations._


End file.
